


here (in your arms)

by almondmilktea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 62,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almondmilktea/pseuds/almondmilktea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let me walk you home."</p><p>"What? No. No, it’s fine, my flat's only like two blocks from here."</p><p>Harry shrugs and Louis takes in his shoulders and how broad they look compared to his slim hips and fuck. "A lot can happen in two blocks. What if I never see you again?"</p><p>They stand across each other, Louis blinking and a playful smile slowly forming on Harry’s lips.</p><p>"...So?"</p><p>"So... maybe I want to see you again."</p><p>or the one where Louis is a successful real estate agent and Harry works at a retirement home. They've never had a real home. Up until now.</p><p>(Starring Liam Payne as a fitness trainer, Zayn as an artist, and Niall, who busks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I don't even know. My summary is so pathetic, I wanna cry at how lame I am. This is my first time writing any sort of fan fiction and this is probably horrible (read: this is absolutely and utterly horrible). I was watching Million Dollar listing and this idea happened. It's not based off the show, it just sparked the idea for this fic!! This is unbeta'd due to reason above. (My first fic and I may or may not have any friends.)
> 
> I wanted this to be a super long one shot but ideas kept forming in my head and it went out of hand and now it's a multi-chaptered. I have somewhat of an idea of how this is going to play out, no idea how many chapters it's going to take. So let's just go with the flow, it's probably going to lead to my ultimate death. 
> 
> my tumblr is almondmilkteaa.tumblr.com (i just started it, it is very very bare and really is just me venting about this damn fic)
> 
> Title is the song here (in your arms) by hellogoodbye because I am unoriginal and it's one of my favorite songs okay this is the end I'm so sorry.

“Oh, Louis… I love this!”

Wait for it…

“But…”

And _there_ it is.

Louis has done this enough to turn his grimace into a smile even though he wants to yank Mrs. Samuel’s purse that an average person probably can’t even afford to look at, dump it’s contents out the window and then the bag itself and stomp out of this amazing flat that he spent weeks looking for. This is after she turned down the four other flats he showed her.

“What is it this time?” Louis asks through clenched teeth.

“I know I told you I wanted a view, but,” She sighs dramatically and stares out of the large glass wall, overlooking the city of London. “This huge glass wall window doesn’t do anything for privacy, now does it?”

This is where _Louis Tomlinson, the youngest and best real estate agent in London_ comes out. He knows how to sell flats and sure, he could have done this four fucking flats ago, but he likes a little challenge. And also because he’s not your typical real estate agent who just tries to sell a home just to get money. He really wants to sell his clients the perfect homes they are looking for. If that means he has to stay up all night drinking copious amounts of coffee and pulling his hair out to find the right home, then he’ll fucking do it.

“Who needs privacy nowadays? C’mon, Mrs. Samuel,” He throws an arm over her shoulder and guides her to the glass window, looking at the London Eye, all the cars zooming away and people walking about below them. “A little spice in your life wouldn’t hurt your relationship with Mr. Samuel, now would it?”

Mrs. Samuel lets out a bashful laugh, her cheeks flushing red. Louis watches her take in the view and he mentally pats himself on the back because it really is a gorgeous sight.

“Plus, you guys are on the twelfth floor, whatever you two may be doing – I’m not suggesting anything – will surely not be seen,” Louis says. “This view… you won’t get anything like it anywhere else. It captures the entire essence of London and you get the chance of waking up to it every morning and having it be the last thing you see each night, next to your lovely husband.”

And _damn_ , he’s reminded of why he’s one of the best real-estate agents in London. He can see the change of answer in Mrs. Samuel’s soft brown eyes, tired and restless from killing time day to day or letting time kill her, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he wants to find this woman the house that she will spend the rest of her life in with her husband.

His words, no matter the effect they’re having on Mrs. Samuels, come back and cut him because it reminds him that he’s almost 27 years old and he still doesn’t have anyone to share a view with. He’s not even close. He doesn’t remember the last date he’s been on and that’s just. Well, that’s just fucking sad.

Louis shakes his head out of his small reverie. His mind does this occasionally, wanders off without him even knowing and he hates thinking. He doesn’t like thinking about the future or where he’ll be in two years. He doesn’t even like thinking about what he’s going to have for dinner. The future scares the shit out of him and he does everything he can to avoid thinking about it.

So. Back to business.

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” She says softly and turns to him with a smile on her face. Her eyes crinkle and it may be cheesy, but it seems like time stops around them. This is why Louis loves his job so much; the moment when a client accepts a house and thinks _Welcome home_.

\--

Fitzgerald once said that life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

Well, as much as Louis likes good ol’ Fitzgerald, he hates that quote because why couldn’t things _just stay_? If life starts all over again, then that means something is ending and Louis doesn’t want things to end, not at this point in his life.

Louis knows he’s being dramatic. It’s not like when fall starts, his life will fall apart in a blink of an eye. It’s just that it’s a reminder that another entire season has gone by and his life is at stagnation. He’s been dedicated to nothing else but his job for the last nearly three years. He may not have someone to sleep with at night, but he has friends and an entire clientele that loves him. He’s damn good at his job and he’s worked his arse off to get to where he is, even if that means having a huge flat with no one to share it with.

He’s never liked dwelling on things he can’t change. If he had the kind of mindset where he is so adamant on changing, then he can kiss his job goodbye. He may hate it, but what the fuck can he do? Louis has learned that the only thing constant is change.

Maybe Louis isn’t very fond of that quote because he hates September. September means going back to school (which he doesn't go to anymore, but, _details_ ), fluctuating weather because it’s so damn unstable, it means uni kids occupying every coffee shop known to man.

It also seems to mean that every uni kid in a five-block radius chose to be at the same pub he's at.

"Christ, don't they have a paper to do or a blog to be on, ranting about a professor?" Louis groans, taking a sip of his beer. It’s one of his very, very rare days off and why he decided to spend it at a shitty pub is beyond him.

Zayn bumps his shoulder with his own, nearly causing Louis to spill his drink.

"Hey, I'm here with you, aren't I?" Zayn says, spinning Louis’ keys around his finger by the key ring. To a stranger’s ear, that might sound romantic, but Louis knows that Zayn is just being a little shit.

"Cause I'm paying for your drinks, you twat." Louis laughs easily at his best mate.

Zayn was a client of his when Louis first began as a real estate agent three years ago. Louis remembers them getting along right from the get go. Zayn was a struggling artist trying to find a studio apartment to get some work done so he can pay his bills and to “take my girl out every once on awhile, for fuck’s sake, it’s getting embarrassing at this point, mate”. Louis was able to find him the perfect place with a view in less than a week. Louis came over to the studio with a bottle of champagne after the papers were signed, only to hear Zayn and Perrie christening the place already.

"Screw you. I'm here cause I missed your fat arse," Zayn gulps down the rest of his beer and releases a loud and rather disgusting burp. "And because you're paying."

Louis laughs and shakes his head fondly. Zayn stumbles off the bar stool, with a mumbled explaining that he’s going to take a piss. Louis drums his fingers on the sticky bar and bobs his head to the thrumming music. He sort of wishes that he spent his day off at home watching the telly with a mug of tea and if that isn’t a sign that he’s turned into ball of self-pity, then he doesn’t know what is. He downs a large gulp of his drink and rubs his eyes.

"Just one drink, mate! It won't hurt your wallet. Drinks here are cheap, anyway," A man says as him and his friend takes a seat next to Louis at the bar.

He usually isn't one to snoop, but with Zayn gone he really has nothing else to do.

"It's still money, Nick. You know I'm short on it. S' fine, I don't want to drink anyway," The other guy says with a deep, rough voice. Louis can see only the back of his head, which is a mess of brown, greasy and muddled curls that’s pulled back by what seems to be some sort of scarf.

The guy sounds tired and Louis definitely knows that feeling. Hell, he doesn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, it's like a constant state of being for him. And seeing as he's not the poorest guy around, he clears his throat and his words escape his mouth before he even knows what he's doing.

"Order whatever you guys want. Drinks are on me," Louis says. He decides that it's the shit beers' fault that he isn't in control of his loud mouth, but also because he has two days and if he wants to buy a couple of what seems like financially struggling guys some drinks, then he fucking will.

They both look at Louis, Scarf Boy having turned so he can face Louis and _Christ_ , there must be something strange in the drinks at this pub because he's never seen someone so pretty. Louis has met a lot of people because when you're one of the top real estate agents, that's the sort of thing that's bound to happen. He's met guys that make him subconsciously lick his lips or have his eyes travel down their bodies, but he has never met a guy that actually takes his damn breath away. Even under the dim lighting, Louis sees that Scarf Boy has piercing emerald green eyes and these full, pink lips that Louis would very much like to feel on every inch of his skin.

And fuck it all if he's saying cheesy and cliché lines in his head. He makes a mental reminder to smack Zayn 'round the head for bringing him to this crappy place and comes back to reality.

"Well there's a good lad! I'm Nick," Nick reaches over his friend to extend his hand and Louis takes it with a small smile. He can see now that Nick is older, his under eye bags apparent with subtle wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.

"Hi, I'm Louis," He says and it's not like he's expecting them to know him or anything- he doesn't have his head that far up his arse- but he’s been on covers of magazines for being the youngest and most successful real estate agent in London and even interviewed on the news. But fuck, even he doesn’t watch the news so there’s that.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Harry," The other guy takes Louis' hands and gives him a polite, _dimpled_ smile. "Might want to revoke your offer while it still stands, Nick will drink for the both of us and then some."

"Just drink a couple of pints, mate. It’ll do you some good," Nick claps his hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Seriously, order whatever,” Louis encourages.

“It’s fine, I don’t need to wake up with a hangover tomorrow. I have work in the morning,” Harry shakes his head, but he has a polite smile on and Louis really just wants to kiss him.

Louis is about to reply when he's tackled forward, his upper body suddenly too close to Harry. He feels a warm, sweaty and heavy body on his back and arms that are wrapped around his chest.

"Lou! Liam rang me asking if I could drop by his flat to feed his fucking goldfish. I tried getting out of it, but you know how Liam is with that damn thing. D'you think you can get a cab home? Unless you want to come with," Zayn explains.

God, Nick and Harry- not that he cares much about what Nick thinks about him, but _Harry_ , yes his opinion is very important to him- must think that Louis is a loser who has friends that need him to feed a  _goldfish_. Liam won it at a festival and has been obsessed with it ever since, calling it Squishy and promising to take good care of it. He bought a fish tank that could probably house twenty turtles and has an entire shelf dedicated to its food. He's only known Liam for a couple of months after he found him a house next to the gym that he works at as a fitness trainer. It's sad that his friends are people he's met through his line of work, but he has no social life. And wow, these two thoughts makes Louis very tempted to go rot in his bed.

"Get off me, you brute! And as thrilling as feeding a goldfish seems, I’ll pass.”

Zayn laughs and flips him the bird. He reaches for the shot in front of Louis and tips his head back as he downs the shot. Louis admires his jawline for a second and thinks that if Zayn swung for his team, they would be friends with benefits. If his face wasn’t flushed from sweat and alcohol already, he would be blushing from the memories of himself getting off to the thought of Zayn blowing him. _Christ_ , he really needs to get laid, and soon. Zayn waves off and disappears into the crowd of sweaty bodies.

Louis hangs out at and makes friendly conversation with Harry and Nick for awhile longer. He can’t fucking figure out if Nick and Harry are together or if they’re just mates or if Harry is even gay. (Louis’ confirmation that Nick is indeed gay happened when a bloke bought Nick a drink and he planted a wet kiss straight on the guy’s lips.)

"I should probably get going," Louis pulls out fifty pounds from his wallet and gives it to the bartender. "S'on me, whatever these lads want." He turns to Harry and soaks up as much of him as he can, from his raggedy plaid shirt to his beat up brown boots that looks like it will fall apart if he took one more step.

"Cheers, mate. Nice meeting you," Nick says with a raise of his pint. Louis nods in acknowledgement, gives Harry one final smile and walks out of the pub.

It's chilly out, his thin shirt not doing him much good (September and its damn weather, he _hates_ it) and he lets out a frustrated huff of breath. He sees pissed uni students stumbling down the streets and an older woman walking to her car with a red nose and tissue in one hand, a box of medicine in the other. Louis hopes that she gets better and wonders if she had to run out at two in the morning to get medicine because she's alone or she doesn't want to wake up her significant other. He then wonders what he would do if he were in that situation and then remembers that it doesn't matter because he's alone. Louis quickly adverts his eyes away from the woman because he fucking hates thinking and even when he's not wallowing away in his bed, he still manages to have his thoughts run off.

"Hey!"

Louis' heart stops and he’s frozen in place and thinks _god fucking shit I’m going to be brutally murdered_ , when the voice calls out, "Louis!"

Louis recognizes that deep and rough voice, even if he's only known it for half an hour, but he hopes that he’s lucky enough to hear it more. He prays that he’s done enough good deeds in this world to hear this voice moaning his name in the near future.

He also prays that he’s lucky enough to get laid sometime in the near future, thanks.

"Harry?"

Harry stops his jog in front of him and smiles, his face flushed and starting to glisten with specks of sweat and Louis really, really wants to go before he starts ravishing Harry right then and there.

"Decided to take a midnight stroll instead of hailing a taxi?"

"Huh? Oh, um, yeah." Louis is _stuttering_ and he's the poster child for suave and cool, so if he's fumbling with his words around a guy who he has only been around for all of forty minutes, then Louis should really take that as a warning sign.

"Let me walk you home."

"What? _No_. No, it’s fine, my flat's only like two blocks from here."

Harry shrugs and Louis takes in his shoulders and how broad they look compared to his slim hips and _fuck_. "A lot can happen in two blocks. What if I never see you again?"

They stand across each other, Louis blinking and a playful smile slowly forming on Harry’s lips.

"...So?"

"So... maybe I want to see you again."

Louis stands there dumbfounded because who even is this guy. This- this guy who wears a goddamn scarf around his hair and hangs out with older people (well, person, but he might have other older friends, okay), walks in boots that are falling apart, wears fucking _rings_ and offers to walk a stranger home in the middle of the night.

And Louis should be concerned, there should be bright red flashing lights going off in his head because he's not ready to be in a relationship, but this guy is flirting with him and he so desperately wants to flirt back and it’s his day off and when the hell is that ever going to happen again? His head is swimming, he's tired and he really just wants to get the fuck home and sleep for the next five years.

"I'm not some stalker or anything. Just say the word and I'll head back to the pub and watch Nick get pissed off his arse while finding some bloke to hook up with." Harry shoves his hands into his pockets- which, _how_ because his jeans look like they're painted on- and rocks back and forth on his feet, looking expectantly at Louis.

"Right. Fine, let's go, I'm freezing my bollocks off." He really isn't and being around this person can't be beneficial for Louis' health in any way, but Louis just doesn't care about anything besides getting home and if Harry's asking to accompany him, then Louis would be mental to say no.

"You don't have some paper to be slaving over?" Louis asks. They're walking a safe distance between them, perhaps a bit too close if Louis can feel the slight warmth of Harry beside him.

"No, dropped out of uni. Just wasn't for me, y’know?"

"Enlighten me.”

Harry takes a deep breath and exhales and you can actually see his breath. Louis loathes September. “School just sucks, to put it bluntly. I mean, I’m all for education, but I felt _suffocated_ at school. It’s a place of judgment and teachers who care more about money than actually educating students, suppressing creativity by expecting students to follow a bunch of bullshit guidelines and rules. Schools don’t seem to understand that learning and knowledge isn’t this straight concept that can be measured by how well people _memorize_ things- things that they won’t remember the next day. Nowadays, grade is an incentive rather than really measuring how smart someone is, which is fucked up as it already is.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say because if it weren’t for all of his business and economic classes, then he wouldn’t be where he is right now. He wouldn’t be the one of the top real estate agents in London and…

Well that’s just it, isn’t it? And _nothing_. Louis might have more money than he can think to spend, but what is the point if he doesn’t have someone to share it with, someone to spend it on? Louis has had this thought before, it’s not like it hasn’t occurred to him in the time of his success. But, well, Louis always has alcohol in his vicinity to deter him from such thoughts that make him want to chew on gravel.

"It's just... I love learning, don't get me wrong, but school isn't for me. Geometry and photosynthesis and all that crap, I don’t have much care for it. I’m not saying it doesn’t matter, because it _does_ , but I feel like I could be making more of myself out there in the world. I can make _real_ mistakes- not pointless mistakes on a math test- and learn and _grow_ from it. Exploring cities, learning the culture, meeting new people instead of seeing the same faces day by day. Does that make sense?”

This- _this_ , he understands. It’s on the tip of his tongue to just say that _yeah, I travel enough that it does make sense_. He wants to say that walking the streets of Venice and swimming in Australia has educated him in more ways than some mundane class. He wants to tell Harry that he’s met the most genuine and kind people all across the world that he doesn’t really even know, yet they have taught him more than any of his professors.

Louis clears his throat, even though there’s nothing to clear, he just feels like there are so many words that are piling up and he doesn’t know how to put them together, how to say anything that can even be an adequate response to what Harry just told him.

“Yeah, it makes a lot of sense.”

They finally arrive at Louis’ flat and he doesn’t even question when Harry follows him up the stairs. Louis reaches into his pockets and the blood drains from his face when he realizes that his twat of a friend that goes by the name Zayn has his keys.

Harry seems to have caught on because his face is full of genuine concern and Louis doesn’t think he can stand another minute in his presence.

“Do you have a spare key?”

Louis wants to laugh at the thought of a spare key because a spare key usually means one of two things: that he’s unorganized and forgetful, which he can’t afford to be either in his line of work, or that he has some significant other waiting to have the key handed to them. Louis is far from having someone special in his life and that’s the last thing he needs to be thinking about right now; about how utterly and pathetically _alone_ he is and has been for the past three years.

“No, I usually don’t need one,” Louis mumbles and he has the urge to slam his head against the door until his head just smashes through so he can stick his hand through and just open the damn door but he can’t do that without looking fucking insane, so. Back to square one.

“Up until now.” Harry is fucking _smiling_ at Louis’ misfortune. Louis was not intending his night to be going this way and he’s so exhausted, this boy probably being the most exhausting thing of the night. At first, Louis thought that he was in a kiddie pool when he first saw Harry, but now he’s so out of his fucking depth that he feels like he’s flailing around pitifully in the Pacific ocean.

“Up until now.” Louis repeats. “It’s okay, I can just go to my mate’s.”

 “You can come back to mine? Well, not really mine. I share a flat with my mate, Niall.”

Louis blinks a couple of times at him, a mix of exhaustion and adoration for this complete stranger.

“No, really Harry, it’s-“

“ _C’mon_. I just spent my time walking you home like a gentleman and you can’t even get into your own flat. I’m tired and I have to walk back home anyway, so maybe you can return the favor and walk me home.” Harry’s towering of Louis and he’s never felt so small in his life. With Harry’s eyes gazing down at him that flick quickly down to his lips and back up to meet his eyes, Louis gulps and nods.

“We’re taking a taxi this time, though. So, it’s more like I’ll be accompanying you in a ride home, but it’s all the same.” Louis shrugs as they exit the flat building and stand by the curb.

“No it’s not. That’s like saying writing letters and writing emails are the same thing.” Louis turns to Harry and he has his eyebrows scrunched up and it’s so fucking endearing.

“When it comes down to it, it is the same thing,” Louis replies just as a taxi pulls up to them. Harry’s quick to open the door for Louis and it can’t be healthy the amount of times Louis wishes death upon himself tonight.

Harry tells the driver this address and then turns back to Louis, his face determined to prove Louis wrong. “It’s not. Letters are more personal, fingers have imprinted on the paper, their scent sort of lingers on it and when you touch it, it’s like you’re touching the other person. Emails are a part of technology and you can’t further yourself more from true human contact than with electronics.”

And, well, what the fuck. Harry has gone off on his tangents two times this night and has left Louis speechless – which, if you asked Zayn, you have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting Louis to shut up.

“Not true, I use my mobile to phone my mum and sisters all the time. Our phone calls keep us connected when we can’t physically be there. What, are you saying you don’t have a mobile?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Harry states proudly. “If I want to see my parents or my sister, I’ll go see them. If I want to be connected to them, I’d write them a letter. There would be more a sense of me in a letter than some email. There’s nothing about me in an email. I always thought it was funny that every electronics’ slogan is like, ‘Always stay connected with this phone!’, when I personally think we haven’t been more disconnected.”

Louis just doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels a damn _migraine_ coming on just from being around Harry. He wants to argue that his phone and emails have kept him and his family in touch when he’s gone. Sure, he can write them letters, but he doesn’t have the time. He never has enough time for anything. He barely has time for himself, nonetheless sit down and write his family letters for half an hour when he can shoot them a tweet or text and it’ll take him no more than a minute.

And, what about his clients? He fights the urge to break out in laughter at the thought of writing letters to his clients. Granted, it would result in less migraines and saving money on paracetamol. On the other hand, his line of work wouldn’t last five minutes if they communicated through letters.

Louis’ lost in his train of thought and is snapped out of it when the car slows to a stop.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money on me. I would split-“

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Louis flashes him a reassuring smile as he hands over the money to the driver. Harry’s staring at him one second too long to be considered normal when he stumbles out of the car with his gangly limbs and Louis crawls out after him. The walk to the flat is quiet, but Louis is sort of glad for it because he’s done enough thinking for the night and really, his brain is just not functioning enough to hold up a coherent conversation.

When Harry opens the door, the lights are on and it’s almost three in the morning. Louis takes in the flat before him and well. Calling it a flat feels wrong because it looks like one big room. There’s no indication to where the kitchen or the living room starts or ends, it’s just a room filled with furniture with a sink, some cabinets along the walls, and small counter space to the left of the room. To the right is one small table that looks like it’s about to collapse if you set a paper plate on it and the rest of the room is dedicated to what Louis is assuming the living room. There’s a hallway that probably leads to the bathroom and rooms and that’s it.

“Harry! You’re home late, I was assuming you’d be in earlier and just crash the rest of the day.” A thin and shirtless guy with disheveled, blonde hair comes down the hallway with a tired smile, rubbing away sleep from his eye with the back of his hand. He blinks his eyes a bit, adjusting to the light and stares at Louis. “Oh, didn’t know you were bringing someone home.”

“This is Louis; he forgot the keys to his flat. Mind if he crashes here for the night?” Harry says, toeing off his shoes and losing his balance a bit, grasping Louis’ shoulder for balance. Louis falters a bit at his strong grasp and suddenly feels so uncomfortable. Harry straightens up and squeezes his shoulder before letting his hand drop and Louis ignores it because doesn’t have the ability to decipher what it can mean at the moment. It probably means nothing anyway; it was probably a muscle spasm. Louis needs some sleep.

“Nah, of course I don’t. It’s just… I think I saw you on the news the other day?”

Harry turns to Louis with a confused look and Louis wonders if this is all a hallucination. His social life- very close to nonexistent that it should be more of a concerning problem to Louis- has never caused him to be so exhausted and have such a headache. Maybe it was the pub. Maybe it’s Harry. Louis is pretty sure this is all fake, anyway.

“Uh, yeah. Real estate agent. It was just a short segment,” Louis shrugs.

He hates doing interviews because it’s the same thing over and over again. He doesn’t have anything to say. There’s only so many ways he can explain what he did to be where he is today. The only thing that people found interesting about him was that he was 23 when he started and that he was gay. Now he’s edging towards 30 and there’s bound to be a new young and homosexual real estate agent on the way.

“Right, well, make yourself at home,” Niall nods and retreats back into his room.

Harry scrunches his nose and scratches at it and something as trivial as that shouldn’t be so painstakingly cute, but it is because everything this boy does is endearing.

“So, are you some kind of celebrity?”

“I don’t think real estate agents can even be categorized as celebrity, no matter how successful they are,” Louis says as he collapses on the couch. He hears Harry shuffle to him and then his legs are lifted in the air before they’re settled back down but this time, they’re on Harry’s thighs.

“Well you’re successful enough to be on the news, that says something,” Harry’s tapping his fingers against one of Louis’ calves now and this should be weird for two guys who just met, but it isn’t and that makes Louis relax even more.

“Like I said, it was just a short segment. What do you do? I need to know if I’m spending the night at a murderer’s flat or something.”

“If I was a murderer, which I’m _not_ , I wouldn’t tell you. I work at a retirement home,” Harry says and even with Louis’ eyes shut, he can tell how proud Harry is of that fact.

Louis opens his eyes and slowly sits up and just stares at Harry. He’s staring back with a soft smile and tired eyes and he’s known Harry for an hour but he’s never met somebody so interesting.

“You can kip in my room, I’ll take the couch. Don’t even argue with me because I know you’re too tired and your arguments will be shit.” And well, he isn’t wrong on that count. The way Harry says it, like he’s known Louis for years and how Louis is when he’s sleepy, makes Louis’ stomach lurch. Harry stands up, making Louis’ legs fall against the cushions before he takes Louis’ forearm and pulls him up. Louis follows him down the hall and into a small bedroom and Louis’ eyes rake over what’s in it, which isn’t much. There’s a mattress in the further right corner of the room with a thin blanket strewn on it and a window at the foot of it, a small closet on the left of the room with barely any clothes hanging in it. There’s a small bedside drawer but looks unused as there’s nothing on it. Louis’ sure that if he says anything that it will create an echo because it’s just so empty.

Before Louis can comment on anything, Harry pushes him forward gently with a hand on the small of his back.

“Get some sleep, you’re knackered.”

Louis falls onto the mattress and wraps himself in the blanket and cuddles his head into the pillow until he gets comfortable.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Night, Lou.”

Louis falls asleep as soon as he hears the door close.

\--

There’s the sweet sound of someone strumming a guitar and humming when Louis wakes up the next morning from what seems like his hibernation. His back aches a bit from the lumpy mattress as he sits up and stretches. It’s then that he notices how fucking _freezing_ it is. Louis shivers and wraps the thin blanket around himself, but it does practically nothing to provide any source of heat. According to his phone, it’s almost 1. He doesn’t remember the last time he woke up that late, even during his occasional days off when working and he smiles at that. He takes in his surroundings for a moment when his eyes fall on a piece of paper on the floor beside the mattress.

_Good morning, Louis!_

_I had to get to work, but I’ll be home around 4:30. You can stick around if you want, I made breakfast but I don’t know what time you’ll be up. Either way, help yourself. Niall will be home so you’ll have company._

_Harry_

The note seems almost on the border of domestic, so Louis crumples it up as if it’ll crumple the thought away, stands up and goes to find the bathroom. He opens one door and sees that it’s Niall’s room. It’s similar to Harry’s, except not as bare. At least Niall has a bedframe, a desk, dressers and actual clothes to fill his closet. Louis feels creepy looking at his room when Niall is only five feet away, so he quickly shuts it and opens another door, happy to see it’s the bathroom so he can wash away his morning breath. He squirts toothpaste onto his finger and starts brushing his teeth, examining the room. The mirror is cracking along the corners, the toilet and shower look like they could use some bleach. Or a lot of it. He quickly rinses his mouth with ice cold water and walks into the living room. He sees Niall strumming away on his guitar on the couch with a beer on the coffee table.

“Morning, mate,” Niall greets. “Harry made pancakes, they’re ace. Better when they’re fresh, but you can just pop them in the microwave.”

“Cheers.”

Louis loads up his paper plate with pancakes and cooks them quickly before joining Niall on the couch. The pancakes practically _melt_ in his mouth and Louis actually has to bite back a groan of satisfaction because they’re better than his mum’s pancakes.

“You writing?” Louis asks, pointing to the pen and paper on the table with his fork.

“Trying,” Niall laughs as he sets his guitar down and runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair.

Louis is starting to feel awkward and he doesn’t _do_ awkward, so he stuffs his mouth with a forkful of pancakes to occupy him, but when he finally swallows he starts to panic again. Louis doesn’t take Niall as an awkward guy. He has an easy smile and he doesn’t seem bothered by the quiet. Maybe he’s use to it, judging by his empty and squalid flat. Maybe Niall is even inspired by the serenity of his lifestyle and it inspires his next song that will come to be the next number one song on the charts. Louis doesn’t know; he’s so out of his fucking realm.

“No work today?” Louis asks.

“I grow and sell pot,” Niall says offhandedly.

Louis practically chokes on his pancakes, but manages to swallow down the lump of carb-filled and buttery goodness. He glances around the room, but doesn’t see anything to suggest that this person next to him grows marijuana. He inhales deeply but can only smell the scent of the pancakes and at that, he takes another large bite and glances questioningly at Niall, who is suddenly flat on his back and laughing.

“Man, I wish I had some pot left, you could probably use some,” Niall says once he’s recovered from his laughing fit.

“I could use some tea or coffee right now,” Louis mumbles under his breath. “So what do you really do?”

“I busk, mostly. Trying to find some label to sign me, but it’s tough shit,” Niall says with a shrug of his shoulders. Louis appreciates the way Niall says it, like even though it’s difficult, he doesn’t mind. Louis wishes he were that way when he was in uni studying his arse off for his exams so he would be successful. But then again, all that studying paid off because four years later, here he is. Successful and sitting in a stranger’s crappy flat eating homemade pancakes from another stranger.

“Not to sound like an arsehole, but how are you guys living off of busking money and Harry working at a retirement home?”

Niall smiles easily at Louis and he _really_ likes him. He wants Niall’s carefree outtake on everything; like nothing affects him and if it does, Niall will probably throw it the middle finger.

“You’re a real-estate agent. Look around, this isn’t the most amazing place around.”

And, yeah, he isn’t wrong.

“It’s fine, I have everything I need. Harry’s a good flatmate, he cooks and cleans and all that shit. Never complains about how crappy the flat is, I think he actually loves it,” Niall explains. He leans back against the armrest and picks up his guitar again, strumming a melody that would probably put Louis into a nice slumber if he were in his bed.

Louis’ interest is piqued at the sound of Harry’s name. He hopes his face doesn’t show a reaction, but he shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth for good measure before speaking.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We have a mate, Lou, who lives in a proper house. She has a kid and a husband, so maybe he didn’t want to, I don’t know, intrude on them or something. But he just really wanted to live here. He said he loves the flat and can’t imagine being more comfortable anywhere else. I don’t really know what he’s on about, considering this place is a right shithole, but then again I kind of understand. It’s my home. You could probably understand that.”

Louis doesn’t understand it. He feels bad because he _knows_ he’s being pretentious. He just doesn’t know how someone could view this flat as comfortable. It’s absolutely freezing, the floors creak; he doesn’t want to touch anything because he’s afraid it’ll crumble before him. He figures that as long as Niall and Harry are satisfied, then it doesn’t matter what he thinks. To each their own.

“That’s good. You don’t meet people like that too often,” Louis replies.

“You really don’t, mate. It’s a shame.”

\--

Niall and Louis hang out until Harry comes home and the thing is, they don’t really _do_ anything. There’s only so much you can do in the flat, which is pretty much nothing except watch the telly with crap channels (“I found it on the street and just had to nick it before anyone else could,” Niall explained), listen to Niall play his guitar, or just talk.

So they’re in the middle of singing a dumb song they wrong together when Harry comes in.

“Having a right laugh, lads?” He smiles and Louis feels fuzzy all over again, the feeling he had all of last night. He’s sensing a pattern and he almost wants to narrow his eyes at Harry and shout, “It’s _you_! _You’re_ the source of all of my misfortune!” However, he’s not mental, so he just smiles at him.

“We’re writing a hit, probably going to be a one-hit wonder, but look at that Gangnam Style guy,” Louis says. “How was work?”

“Good, nothing better than being around the elderly all day.”

He doesn’t even say it sarcastically; he’s _genuine_ about it. Louis doesn’t know anyone who prefers to hang out with old people and right, Harry’s friends with that other bloke, Nick. Hm.

“Do you have a secret affinity for an older generation? I wouldn’t judge, everyone has their preferences,” Louis asks and Niall lets out a bark of laughter.

“You should have seen that lad he brought home the ot-“ Niall began until Harry charged over and clasped his large hand (Jesus, it took over half of Niall’s face) over Niall’s mouth.

Louis feels like dancing a merry jig around the empty flat because now he knows Harry likes dick. So, onto more important matters, Louis wants Harry to like _his_ dick. He can do this; he’s Louis goddamn Tomlinson. It may have been awhile since he shagged someone but he hasn’t lost his touch. He hopes not. Dear god he hopes not.

“ _No_ , I don’t prefer older people!” Harry exclaims indignantly. He doesn’t have a scarf wrapped around his head today, so his hair is flopping to one side and Harry runs his fingers through it to push it back up. Louis is so endeared.

“So what are the plans for today?” Niall asks once Harry extracts his hand after Niall licks it. Harry just rubs his hand on the back of Niall’s shirt and laughs.

“I dunno. I wasn’t really planning-“ Louis begins.

“ _Heyyyy!_ How about a picnic?” Harry beams. Niall and Louis exchange a glance that says _what the fuck is he on_ and turn back to Harry who is already scrimmaging through the kitchen. Louis has no idea why because whenever he closes a cabinet, he hears a slight echo that indicates that there’s virtually nothing in there.

“Harry, we don’t have shit in the kitchen,” Niall shakes his head slightly and resumes playing the guitar.

“We have granola bars, some fruit, and apple juice boxes.” Harry walks all of five steps back into the living room with his arms full of what he just listed, along with a blanket and a basket.

“That’s our breakfast!” Niall argues.

“I’m getting my paycheck at the end of this week, I’ll do grocery shopping. You don’t do that anyway,” Harry says offhandedly.

Louis is enjoying the bickering, something he encounters often when a couple can’t decide on something in a house he’s showing them, but he never gets tired of it.

“Harry, nobody even has picnics anymore,” Louis says.

“Exactly, it’s a dying activity. We need to save it before it’s extinct. You don’t want that on your conscious, do you?”

“Er.”

“It’s a beautiful day out and what else are we going to do?” Harry presses.

He looks so adorable with his arms full of picnic essentials and wide, hopeful eyes. Harry is probably used to getting things and Louis sure as hell doesn’t want to be one who gives into him, but he already knows his answer.

“Fine, _fine_ ,” Louis huffs like a child.

“You two can have your picnic while I busk,” Niall says.

It’s official. Louis is going on a picnic.

\--

Louis is sitting in the shade under a tree on a plaid blanket with food neatly spread out before him with the most attractive person he’s ever seen in his entire life next to him. This doesn’t feel like Louis’ life, he feels like a completely different person.

 _Who? Louis Tomlinson, the real estate agent? Nope, never heard of him_.

It feels nice, he’s decided.

It feels especially nice when Harry has his head tilted back with his mouth open (Louis tries really hard not to envision this scene in a different situation lest he gets hard in his trousers right then and there) while Louis attempts to throw grapes into his mouth.

“We’re wasting grapes,” Louis laughs as one rolls off of Harry’s cheek and onto the blanket. Harry picks it up and plops it into his mouth, a lazy smile on forming on his lips as he leans back on his hands.

“It’s not my fault you don’t have good aim,” Harry shrugs.

“This was your idea in the first place.”

“I thought you had good aim!”

“Well, that was _your_ mistake, wasn’t it?”

Harry sits up and they’re sitting with their legs crossed, facing each other. Their knees are touching and Louis doesn’t remember when their proximity was so close. He feels Harry’s gaze on him so he takes his stupid little apple juice box and sips from the straw, looking down. His heart is thumping against his chest and he’s _sure_ that Harry can hear it, how can he not? It’s so intense and loud in his ears and he feels like he’s going pop a blood vessel.

“Louis,” Harry whispers.

His voice feels close but thinks that Harry’s face is a good distance away. He _doesn’t know_. He constantly thinks that he can feel Harry everywhere, from where their knees are touching to where Harry is looking at him. The thrumming his blood to his fast-beating heart is screaming _this is it don’t fuck it up you guys are going to kiss and it is going to be amazing let’s do this_.

Louis gulps and looks up to meet his eyes.

And a grape hits his face.

“What the hell?!” Louis shouts. It’s just a grape, he knows, but he still feels the need to cause a commotion.

“Would you like another juice box?” Harry asks, his hands together in his lap.

Louis doesn’t know whether he wants to grip his neck and strangle him or grip his cheeks and kiss him. He digs his hands into the grass and tugs them out from the dirt and sprinkles it into Harry’s hair.

“I hope this isn’t how you treat the elderly,” Louis says, picking up the container of strawberries and eating one.

“I treat them with the utmost respect and tender loving that they need,” Harry responds happily. “I hope you don’t go around putting grass into your clients’ hair.”

He looks ridiculous with grass in his messy hair, half-buttoned up plaid shirt to reveal his tattoos and ripped jeans. Louis is certain he wore this outfit last night.

“Of course I do, that’s how I became successful,” Louis says. His words register only after he says it. He sounds like such a prick that if somebody said these words to him, he’d hate them.

“Jesus, I mean-“

“S’okay, Louis. You don’t have to be modest,” Harry laughs lightly. “It’s good that you’re successful. I’m happy for you. What’s that one quote? ‘Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life’? I never feel like I’m working, that’s one of the things I love about my job.”

Louis doesn’t feel like that at all with his job. He loves his job, he really does. He loves meeting all kinds of people and having enough money to go on vacations in different countries. He loves the fact that there are people who find comfort in their homes when they end their day from their exhausting jobs and _he’s_ the reason why. He found them their homes.

However, it’s really hard fucking work and he’s just _constantly_ working. Louis is tired all the time and he’s pretty sure his body weight is 90% caffeine. He’s probably lost ten good years of his life due to all the stress. Louis barely has a day off.

But, on his rare day off, he met Harry. And, well, that must mean something. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, this chapter is horrible but I wanted to crank one out because everyone seems to think that this is a one shot. Which, I mean, the whole "1/1" thing might suggest that it is in fact a one shot, but like I said, it's multi-chaptered. :)
> 
> I forgot to mention that I honestly don't know anything about real-estate agents and their works so basing this story on that was probably a good idea of me. All of my knowledge comes from Million Dollar Listing and House Hunters, so. Heh.
> 
> I'm just going to apologize in advance for the horribly written smut. I don't write smut at all and it was the weirdest thing for me and I'm probably not going to attempt it in the future. You can just skip on right over it. That's totally fine. Advisable, even.
> 
> I don't really like this chapter but I hope you guys do and even if you guys don't, please just hang in there!!

“Liam, it’s a _goldfish_ for fuck’s sake! You don’t need to buy it ten different flavors of food,” Louis groans as they wander down the aisle in a pet store.

Liam turns his head around so fast that Louis is concerned that he might have whiplash. He has his eyes wide and his mouth open agape a bit in shock and Louis mentally prepares himself from one of Liam’s lectures.

“How would _you_ like it if you had to eat the same thing every single day? Everybody needs variety in their lives, Louis. Even goldfish. And Squishy is a good fish and he deserves all the flavors I can find him.” Liam says, proving his point by adding three containers of fish food into his basket. Liam sounds like a goddamn kid and Louis finds it hard to believe that he’s the same man who can bench press 150 pounds.

“How can a fish be good? How can a fish possibly be _bad_?”

“There are some fish who don’t eat their food and Squishy swims all day. He’s like a little me, just working out his muscles.”

Liam is talking about his pet goldfish as if it’s his fucking child and Louis is on the brink of drowning himself in one the fish tanks.

“Liam, it’s a _fish_ , of course it’s going to be swi-“

Louis’ phone rings and he automatically straightens up when he looks at the caller ID.

“Simon! How are you?” Louis says.

“I’m good, how are you?” Simon asks.

Simon is the owner of a new flat complex and has hired Louis to sell out the flats. Louis has already sold over half of the flats even though the complex is in a shitty part of London. Greg is paying him millions of pounds to sell out this complex and it’s been causing Louis stress because the flats that are available aren’t even worth the price if he’s being honest.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“How is it going with the flats? I know you have a handful left and I need to have the complex filled in a month,” Simon explains.

Louis rubs his hand over his face and breathes in slowly.  He has about thirty flats left and only a month to sell them all. He actually doesn’t know if he can pull this off. Louis is mentally going through his client list and seeing how many of them would be interested in the flats. He’s been under this pressure before and he’s pulled through, but he knows that it only takes one opportunity to screw everything up.

“Trust me, I know time is running out. I have an open house for one today and I can guarantee you it looks so amazing that they’ll want it the minute they step in,” Louis sighs.

“Don’t convince me, convince _them_.”

The line clicks dead and Louis stares at his phone in disbelief for ten seconds before stuffing it into his pocket angrily and resting his forehead against a fish tank, letting it cool his overheated skin.

“Lou? Everything alright?” Liam asks quietly.

“I have thirty days to sell thirty flats and I don’t know if I can do it. That means I have to _at least_ sell one flat per day and that would be me pulling through by the skin of my teeth. I’d probably die by the end of the month if that happens. I need to sell more than one a day to have any hope in finishing this alive.”

Louis is having a mental breakdown in a pet store. This is his life and it is pitiful. People pay him millions of pounds to find them a home and they would probably be running in the opposite direction if they saw him in his current state.

“Louis,” Liam grips his shoulders and pulls him away from the fish tank and stares at him with a very intense look in his eyes, “You are going to sell those flats and the people are going to _love_ their new homes and they’ll have you to thank. You are going to show Simon that you can pull this off and at the end of the month, we’ll be celebrating your big sell out.”

Liam always gets like this; it’s his inner fitness trainer coming out.  He gets really inspirational and passionate and if Louis didn’t know him, he’d be sort of scared of his intensity. But Liam is a good friend and it actually calms him down so he nods and lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“You’re right. I can do this,” Louis answers.

“You _will_ do this,” Liam corrects. “Hey, is that a Spongebob pineapple house? Squishy would _love_ that!”

Louis starts to believe that maybe Squishy is Liam in some sort of afterlife because he really has an attention span of a fish.

\--

Louis can’t do this.

“I can’t do this,” Louis states and his assistant, Anna, rolls her eyes as she straightens up the mini cupcakes.

Anna really did an amazing job with the open house. She set up everything perfectly and Louis can imagine the flat in a magazine or something, it’s _that_ nice. He’s starting to feel the pressure and he just really needs to fucking sell these flats. The flat that is holding the open house is the worst of the bunch, so if he can sell this one, he can sure as hell sell the others. It’s all just a matter of if he can do it in a month.

“Lou, you’re amazing. You’re one of the top agents, okay? Take a shot of vodka and calm the hell down,” Anna replies.

“I’m a _professional_ , how very dare you suggest such a thing while I’m on the job,” Louis hisses at her, but takes the shot nonetheless. It burns the back of his throat, but he already feels a little bit more at ease.

“Louis!”

Greg is all smiles when he enters the flat and a crowd of people come following him shortly after. It’s all a mess of hugs and kisses and _Marble counters, your cook won’t even want to leave_ and _This rug is made out of 100% goat hair, you’ll feel like you’re having sex on a cloud_.

He cringes when his clients ask him what is the listing price and he says, “2 million pounds. I know it’s a lot, especially for this location in London, but you’re far enough to get some peace and quiet without the hustle and bustle of London, but close enough to not lose its touch. There are pubs, Asda and Tesco nearby, everything that you will need. Don’t ask me about sex shops, Matt, you know I have no knowledge in that department.”

By the end of the day, he sold _three_ flats. He’s so happy and the only thing that comes to mind is Harry. He wants to see Harry.

It’s been about a month since they first met. Louis has been to their flat about three times a week. Most of the time, he’s helping Harry drawing posters for some event at the retirement home or making them pure organic brownies. The rest of the time, they’re on the couch _talking_. Louis doesn’t even know what they’re talking about half the time or even how they get started on a topic. They’ll go from stupid things like how the sky looks really close when you’re laying down to insightful and deep stuff like fucking feminism.

“I’m just saying, it’s important. People always think that women are just angry and even if that’s true, they have a right to be. It’s shitty that women are so strong and the world sees it as something less than that,” Harry said.

Louis actually had to take medicine because of his throbbing headache after that conversation.

He learns a lot about Harry when they’re lounging on his mattress, just staring up at his ceiling and listening to the occasional sound of the leak in the ceiling dropping against the wooden floors or the rain pattering against the window. He learns that Harry is 24 and has lived from place to place ever since he dropped out of uni when he was 19. He learns that Nick and Harry dated for nearly three years until Harry broke up with him. He’s worked in places like a bakery, a tattoo shop as a receptionist, and a thrift store. The longest he’s ever been in one place has been Niall’s flat and at the retirement home, which has been six months.

He really doesn’t know why ever since meeting Harry, Louis suddenly has some sort of social life. It’s probably due to the fact that he has a reason to actually get out of bed rather than wallowing in his self-pity, but he’ll keep that to himself.

It’s always a surprise for Harry when Louis pops over because Harry doesn’t have a mobile and Louis can’t warn him. (It also means that he can’t flirt with him via emojis and text messages that may or may not be suggestive.) Niall has some crappy phone that can only take calls and he doesn’t want to waste his minutes on Louis telling him that he’s coming over.

“Just come over whenever you want, Christ. It’s not like we’re ever doing anything,” Niall said.

So Louis is full of energy when he knocks on the door. He feels like his energy is going to burst out of him when Harry opens the door, so he immediately wraps his arms around Harry’s neck.

“This is a greeting I can get use to,” Harry chuckles into his ear as he hugs Louis around his waist.

Niall makes a choking noise and is shortly followed by a door shutting loudly. Louis and Harry release each other, laughing hysterically.

“Why are you so happy?” Harry asks.

“Remember the complex I told you about? The one Simon owns?” Louis doesn’t even give Harry a chance to answer, he just keeps going. “I sold three flats today. I didn’t even think I’d sell one. God, these flats have been stressing me out so much lately.”

“Want some celebratory dinner?” Harry grins.

And yeah, _no_. Harry has asked Louis to stay for dinner before and it’s not that he doesn’t want to because he really does. It’s just that Harry and Niall barely have food for themselves. They’re always splitting a granola bar in the morning or a sharing a can of spaghetti for dinner. Louis wants no part in taking any of their food.

“How about we go out for dinner this time?” Louis suggests.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but then he smiles widely. Louis hopes that he doesn’t bring up anything about this being a date, because even if it was, they haven’t really acknowledged their flirty actions and comments towards each other.

“Yeah, sounds great. Where do you wanna go?”

“I’m feeling Italian.”

“Alright, let’s go. I’m starving.”

 _It’s not a date_ , Louis tells himself. But then he looks at Harry and his loose white shirt that has holes in it and his skin sucking jeans and his fucking smile and thinks _if this was a date, I could have done a lot worst._

\--

Maybe Louis should have picked somewhere better for their first non-date. They go to a pasta restaurant, which involves a lot of slurping and sauce on their faces. He’s constantly wiping his face with his napkin to ensure that he doesn’t have fettuccine sauce on his lips and he doesn’t like being this paranoid on this _non-date_.

Louis has never been one to small talk. He fucking hates it because he knows that they both can care less about the weather or how each other’s job is doing. With Harry, it’s _never_ small talk. He turns trivial conversations into these meaningful things that make you change the way you look at fucking life or something.

It’s different because they’re not hanging around the flat on the couch or Harry’s mattress. In the past month, the flat has turned into some sort of sanctuary for them and it’s strange to be out in the real world. When they’re out with Zayn, Liam and Niall- and even occasionally Nick- it’s fine because Louis doesn’t feel like he’s under a microscope. Now it’s just the two of them and even though it’s not true, he _feels_ like everyone in the restaurant are watching them. It’s strange and it’s new and Louis likes it.

“I’m happy you came by tonight,” Harry says. He’s smiling down at his empty plate of pasta, avoiding eye contact with Louis. He’s being _bashful_ and it’s usually the other way around.

“It was the first place that came to mind,” Louis answers. He signals for their waiter to come by with the check. “Tomorrow is going to be another day of hell, though. All the mini cupcakes, champagne, and coffee. And now _pasta_. I should really visit Liam at the gym.”

“You don’t need to, Lou,” Harry frowns.

The waiter comes by with the check and takes their empty plates. Louis grabs it before Harry, who whines and tries to pry it from Louis’ hands.

“We’re in a _restaurant_! Behave yourself, you hooligan,” Louis hisses. He quickly puts his card in and gives to a waiter who passes by.

“Lou, um, you know that I’m not, like, using you or anything, right?” Harry mutters, shifting around in his seat uncomfortably.

Of all of their conversations, they’ve never talked about how they come from two completely different places. They talk about their jobs but they never talk about the financial side of it. Louis isn’t sure if it’s some sort of unspoken rule between them or if Harry just doesn’t care to bring it up. Their waiter returns with their receipt and Harry's quick to grab it before Louis can, pocketing the receipt and handing Louis his card.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course I know that. I’m the one who asked you out to dinner, remember?” Louis says.

“I know, it’s just that I don’t want you to feel obligated to pay. We don’t have to go out to eat,” Harry explains.

“When was the last time you even had a proper meal? I wanted to take you out, okay?” Louis make sure to sound gentle and firm because it seems like it’s really bothering Harry to make sure that Louis knows he’s not using him. Louis takes his hand and reaches across the table to brush his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. It causes Harry to smile softly at him and nod.

In the car ride back to Harry’s flat, Harry finds Louis’ hand over the console, intertwining their fingers. Louis feels a moment of warmth and something familiar. He can’t place his finger on it, but it’s something he’s felt before but with Harry it’s new yet comfortable.

When they get back to the flat, Louis doesn’t even think about it, he just climbs onto the bed and they huddle together on the lumpy mattress, Harry’s body radiating more warmth against his back than the thin blanket on top of them. Louis can feel all the words that are desperately trying to climb out of his mouth. He wants to ask him a million questions because he knows that Harry will have a million answers and Louis will listen to them all. Louis will sometimes point out something stupid just to see what Harry would say. Most of the time, Harry thinks Louis has gone mad, but he just talks and Louis thinks that he would be satisfied if the last thing he hears is Harry’s voice at the end of a day. So Louis turns over on his side to face Harry, whose eyes are closed but he can tell that he’s still awake. Louis opens one of his eyelids with his thumb and Harry laughs.

“May I help you?” Harry grumbles.

Louis is gazing at him and he actually can’t believe that this _person_ is lying in bed beside him. He doesn’t know how he got so fucking lucky to have Harry’s arms around him.

“I really like you,” Louis murmurs softly.

Harry opens his eyes at this and his smile is lazy, stretching slowly over his face.

“Well, I really, _really_ like you. Beat that.”

"Hm, looks like you win this round."

Harry wins most rounds, but Louis won't voice that out loud.

"You're one heck of a person, Lou."

Louis falls asleep with Harry’s arms wrapped around him tight and the faint outline of Harry’s lips on the back of his neck.

\--

His phone is vibrating loudly next to his ear the next morning and he has a heavy and warm body sprawled across his back. Louis blinks slowly and reaches blindly for his phone.

“Hello?” Louis grumbles.

“Louis! I’m so sorry for such an early call, but I was wondering if you were free today.”

It’s six in the morning and it’s another usual wake up call. He talks to his client, barely registering his own words and hangs up the phone, groaning and pressing his face into Harry’s chest.

Oh. Right. He spent the night with Harry.

“S’ too early for work,” Harry grumbles and his morning voice makes Louis want to cry.

“Nothing is too early when it comes to my job,” Louis sighs. Harry stirs under him and suddenly Harry is kissing him.

Louis is barely awake and it takes him ten seconds longer than usual for his brain to catch up and actually register what’s happening. His lips are soft and cold against his. It’s a nice first kiss, Louis decides. It’s lazy but gentle; the perfect description to their morning. Before he can return the kiss, Harry is pulling away with a dopey smile.

“Stole our first kiss,” Harry says.

He doesn’t think that term fits well when it comes to them because Harry would never be stealing a kiss if Louis is so willing to give them away. He’d kiss Harry all day if he could. He’s wanted to do it ever since they met and having it be at an unruly time in the morning, with morning breathes and Louis looking as if he just woke up from a morgue isn’t exactly picturesque.

“Couldn’t have waited until I at least brushed my teeth?  I’m a right mess,” Louis asks.

“It’s memorable.”

“It’s disgusting.”

Harry pouts and since he can do it now, Louis kisses him. Harry smiles into it, pulling Louis closer to him by his waist. When he feels his tongue inching inside, Louis pulls away and laughs.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Louis says.

“Do you really think I care?” Harry’s warm breath fans over him and Louis just rests his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.

Louis has never liked mornings, but he thinks he’d be a morning person if he got to wake up next to Harry.

Louis doesn’t know how much time passes with them just lying there. Harry’s fingers are softly drawing random patterns on his back and it’s only until he recognizes his finger drawing an R and then a Y that he’s been spelling his name over and over across his back.

The silence is comfortable; Louis is constantly talking day in and day out. He’s tired of it and it’s relaxing that he can rest his mind all the while Harry is by his side.

He wants to spend every minute he has with Harry getting to know more of him, though. Louis can’t stand to know that they’re just sitting around when he can be unraveling him. Louis knows that it’s bad considering he wants to keep this casual, but he can’t help it. He keeps giving in and he’s not sure when he’s going to keep giving until he has nothing left, but even then he’ll keep giving in because it’s what Harry deserves.

“Where’s your family?” Louis suddenly asks. It’s probably the type of question that needs easing into, but he doesn’t care.

Harry pulls away with a content expression and Louis’ glad to know that he hasn’t struck a cord that might have brought up bad memories. Harry knows of Louis’ mum and sisters, but Louis hasn’t asked about his.

“My mum and stepdad are still in Chesire and my sister Gemma is in Manchester with her husband,” Harry explains.

“Were they mad at you when you left?”

“My mum was, she didn’t really understand. She doesn’t hold it against me though.”

“So you’re all on good terms?”

“Being on anything but good terms doesn’t sit well with me.”

Louis smiles up contently at Harry, who has a mirror image of smile.

“You’re nice,” Louis replies faintly.

“It’s a shame that people have the need to point that out. We’re _people_ , we’re supposed to be nice,” Harry states.

He doesn’t know how Harry’s this optimistic about life when he’s living on a mattress on a shitty flat with barely any money to fend for himself. He admires it and wishes he could be like that way, but he’s too superficial.

“I think you need some bed sheets or a decent blanket. It’s _October_ , how have you not frozen to death?” Louis changes the subject because he’s needed to bring up this topic. He may like falling asleep next to Harry, but he doesn’t particular like waking up with frostbite.

“They aren’t necessities, Lou. It’s a waste of money,” Harry answers. He pulls Louis’ legs on top of his lap and starts to drum his fingers against the fabric of his sweats just like he did when they first met.

“You’ll be regretting that when you catch a cold. I know you’re struggling, but I think you can afford some new clothes or something,” Louis sighs.

“I don’t _need_ them. I need to pay the bills and I need food on the table. I work at a retirement home, I’m not exactly getting paid a lot,” Harry says.

Louis bites back from pointing out that he _doesn’t_ have food. Harry doesn’t look like he’s starving by any means- he looks healthy- but it always seems that way. Niall and Harry rarely have anything in the cabinets of the kitchen and the contents of their fridge only lasts a week before they’re scrimmaging around for pocket money to buy something for dinner.

“It’s just different. We’re different,” Harry adds. He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing, he’s just making an observation. Louis understands that, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. He feels like Harry is insinuating that Louis doesn’t understand him when that’s all he wants to do.

\--

“No, absolutely not. The price is firm at two million pounds. I wish I could lower the price for you, Mr. Slade.”

The conversation ends with a quick _I’ll have to spend a couple of days thinking about it_ and Louis doesn’t have a couple of days. He needs to sell these fucking flats before he goes mental. He rubs at his temples for a bit, attempting to soothe his migraine from his bustling morning of frantic calls and organizing more open houses.

His phone goes off and he’s about to chuck it at his wall when he sees his mum’s name flashing.

“You do realize I have a personal mobile and my business number is only for, oh I don’t know, _business_?” Louis snaps.

“Is that anyway to greet your mother?” Jay demands and Louis sighs.

“Sorry, mum. Stressful morning.” Louis mumbles, laying his head down on his arm.

“Do you need anything, love?” Her voice is suddenly full of worry and she sounds so gentle. He’s hit by a sudden feeling of homesickness. He hasn’t seen his mum or the girls in what seems like absolute ages. He misses his old bedroom and hearing the thundering of his sisters’ feet against the hardwood floor as they burst into his room and pile onto his bed like puppies. The girls are older now but it never seems to stop them from snuggling onto his bed with him.

“A one way trip to Fiji would be nice, thanks.”

“Oh! How about it?!”

“What, Fiji? Mum, I was joking,” Louis replies.

“Well not Fiji specifically, but a vacation. You really do need it, love, you sound absolutely restless,” Jay says.

“I can’t, not until I sell all the flats in this complex,” Louis answers.

“Well how about after?”

“Who goes on vacation in the beginning of November? Look, I’m sorry mum, but I have to get going. The rest of October is going to be mental and I’ll try to find time to go down and visit you guys,” Louis says, already preparing himself to go back into business mode. His break was nice while it lasted.

“Miss you loads,” Jay says.

Louis grits his teeth because he will _not_ cry in his office and says, “Miss you lot loads. Tell the girls I said I’ll see them as soon as I can.”

He quickly hangs up and gets up from his desk because if he sits for another second he knows he’s going to break down. He needs to do something to keep him occupied and he has a whole list of shit of things to do just that.

He gets to work and tries not to think about how much he loves his job because if he did, he knows that in this moment, the answer wouldn’t be much.

\--

Louis is working from home the next day, not being able to stay in the office another minute after not having sold any flats. He’s wasted a day and he’s losing hope.

He’s in the middle of making tea when there’s a loud knock on his door. He pads over to the door and opens it to find Zayn, who bursts in with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Hey, I told you no smoking in my flat!” Louis exclaims.

“I don’t give a shit, Lou,” Zayn leans against the island and takes a deep drag before exhaling. It looks like a scene from a movie and at any other time, Louis would take the time to appreciate how hot his best mate is, but he has shit to do and Zayn’s presence doesn’t make things easier.

“The scent _lingers_ , Jesus, what if I end up selling this flat? Nobody is going to want it with it smelling like fucking cigarettes,” Louis grunts.

“Hm, selling this flat to move in with a particular boy?”

And wait, _what_.

“What.”

“I had to find out from Perrie, who found out from Jade who found out from Ed who found out from a bloke name Ben who found out from some girl name Lou that you’re seeing someone. Some best mate you are, you absolute shit,” Zayn stubs his cigarette against his jeans, which are already tattered and splotched with paint, and tosses it into the sink.

“I’ve been busy with work, I was going to tell you. Would you calm down?” Louis rolls his eyes. Talk about being over dramatic, Christ.

“Lou, you haven’t been in a relationship in what, five years-“

“ _Three years!_ ”

“Whatever. It’s sad all the same,” Zayn says and lights up another cigarette. Louis wants to claw his eyes out. “You always come up with some lame excuse how you’re busy with work and when it comes down to it, when _aren’t_ you busy with work? You aren’t in a damn relationship with your job, I hope you know.”

“Fuck you. You don’t think that fact hasn’t made itself apparent at this point? We’re just hanging out,” Louis says, walking past Zayn and into the kitchen. If he’s going to have this conversation, he’s going to need alcohol. He takes out a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass, taking a big gulp.

“ _Hanging out_ ,” Zayn scoffs.  “What are you, ten? I’ve rarely seen you this past month and I already know you’re head over heels for this guy,” Zayn replies.

He doesn’t know what’s up Zayn’s arse that he’s so pissed. He has dark circles under his eyes and his cheekbones are more prominent with his face thinning. He hasn’t shaved in what looks like a week and his hair is disheveled. He’s never understood an artist’s life and he doesn’t want to. They get moody (exhibit A: Zayn Malik) and philosophical about inanimate objects and in the end, Louis doesn’t have the patience for them.

He’s losing patience with Zayn right now.

Plus, he’s sure that he hasn’t been _that_ obvious about how he feels about Harry. He may not have the best poker face, but he’s not some hormonal teen who can’t control their feelings, no matter what Zayn seems to think. They’ve all hung out a couple times and _sure_ , maybe there would be some hip grazing or staring at Harry for a second too long. Louis doubts that Zayn is that perceptive to catch on, but here he is, yelling at Louis as if he’s a fucking kid.

“Look, I don’t know if you’re having some Van Gogh-esque crisis or something, but go shag Perrie to let it out of your system. Don’t take it out on me, I didn’t even do anything,” Louis says.

Zayn inhales his cigarette deeply and puffs it out. He takes a deep sigh before saying, “I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s really nothing holding you back. You haven’t had shit relationships in the past.”

Aren’t _all_ past relationships shit in the end? People can go on about how things ended on a good note, but all endings suck. Louis sounds bitter, but it’s true that he hasn’t had any horrible relationships. Nothing traumatizing, anyway.

“Harry isn’t some fling. Like you said, I haven’t had any bad relationships thus far, so give me a little credit. I know what I’m getting myself into. It’s casual and it’s easy and that’s what I need right now. The last thing I need is commitment,” Louis explains.

“Fine. I’m just trying to look out for you. You know that, right?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, I know. But maybe next time, instead of lashing out at me, you can paint me a mural or something,” Louis answers.

\--

The contents of Harry’s fridge – or lack of contents- really puts a damper on Louis’ optimistic mood that is shrinking with every passing second.

It’s been five days and he’s sold seven more flats. He’s a third done and hope is alive once again. Simon is happy and even sent Louis a fruit basket to show his appreciation. His clientele is growing larger because of how fast and well he’s been doing. The only thing that can make Louis happier is probably shagging Harry.

So looking at the fridge really isn’t something Louis wants to do at the moment. It’s empty except for a pathetic banana, a couple of oranges, some eggs and some water bottles. It physically pains Louis to look at the fridge any longer, so he shuts it and returns to the living room, where Harry is sprawled across the couch.

“You have no food,” Louis announces.

“That’s not true, we have to have some food,” Harry says. He gets up and opens the fridge, taking out the banana, oranges, and eggs. “See?”

“How do you expect us to have a decent meal with banana and eggs? It’s nine in the morning and I could use for some of your pancakes. I’ve been craving them all week,” Louis pouts.

“Well then, glad to know you’re using me so guiltlessly,” Harry replies. “I can make us banana pancakes. I make them all the time at work. They’re healthy _and_ delicious.”

Harry quickly goes to his room and retreats back with speakers and an iPod. Louis looks questioningly at it and then back at Harry. Louis usually refrains from bringing up Harry’s financial situation, but the question is itching out of his throat.

“How the hell did you afford an iPod and speakers?”

“The speakers are Niall’s, it was a gift from his brother. I got the iPod from my mum back when I was still in uni.”

So Harry gets to work by mashing the bananas and Louis attempts to make fresh orange juice while Jack Johnson sings about having a day in. He can’t really think of anything better.

He’s on the counter, swinging his legs as he squeezes with all of his might. It’s straining his arms and he bites back from suggesting going down the street to Tesco’s and buying a carton of orange juice. It’ll be a whole lot easier on him, but he’s never made freshly squeezed orange juice before and he’ll be damned if he gives up. He fights through the tension on his arm and Harry laughs at him, walks over to stand between his legs and licks an orange piece off his chin.

“Don’t hurt yourself, babe,” Harry comments. He starts cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them like he’s Gordon fucking Ramsey.

“Easy for you to say, you’re just mashing up bananas and mixing eggs,” Louis grumbles.

Harry sets his bowl down and takes the mangled orange from Louis’ sticky hands. He kisses Louis slowly, dragging it out. The majority of their morning was spent kissing, but another few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Or hours. Louis definitely prefers hours of kissing than banana pancakes.

Harry laughs against his lips, “You smell citrusy.” He runs his hands up and down Louis’ thighs, causing him to wiggle on the counter because _fuck_ , can he stop for five seconds?

“I’ve only been squeezing oranges for the past twenty minutes,” Louis says.

Harry raises one of Louis’ hands to his face and suddenly, his index finger is in Harry’s warm mouth and _fuck fuck fuck_. Louis can’t even process what’s going on because he’s pretty sure he went into shock. His whole body goes rigid as Harry’s tongue swirls around his finger, licking off the sticky fruit.

It’s over just as soon as it started and Harry drops Louis’ hand with innocent eyes and a grin. He’s sure that he crawled out of some sort of dante’s inferno to be the bane of Louis’ existence. His cock is already swelling in his sweats and he really wants to slap Harry.

“I don’t like you,” Louis states firmly.

“That’s a lie, lovebug,” Harry says.

“Don’t _call_ me that.”

“Okay, gumdrop.”

“I’m serious, stop it.”

“Whatever you say, pumpkin.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve given me a problem that I now have to go fix,” Louis replies, eyeing his crotch that is noticeably tenting embarrassingly.

Harry picks up the bowl of eggs and starts whisking again.

“I could blow you if you want,” Harry says offhandedly.

Louis almost falls on his arse as he hops off the counter and feels his cheeks heating up. His whole body feels like it’s on fire and he needs to get off right fucking _now_.

“ _Jesus_. That sort of thing needs to have some sort of build up, like maybe if we were grinding on each other or something, but not when we’re making _pancakes_.”

“Are you ignoring my offer on giving you head? It’s not like I’m performing an exorcism or something,” Harry raises an eyebrow at him who only looks at him with narrow eyes.

“I don’t think Jack Johnson would appreciate you sucking my dick while he serenades us with his voice of tranquility. Plus my mobile is off, I probably have missed calls,” Louis whines. He really should have known that coming over here for a quick breakfast would end up something like this. Actually, he _did_ know and came over anyway. Current Louis wants to punch Past Louis in the throat.

“I’m pretty sure the song encourages some sort of sexual activity,” Harry says. “ _You hardly even notice when I try to show you this song is meant to keep you from doing what you’re supposed to_. Jack Johnson’s my man.”

“We haven’t even made the banana pancakes and-“

“Hop on the counter and take your pants off, Louis.”

They stare at each other for awhile, Louis completely frozen in place while Harry’s patience is wearing thin. He taps his foot against the floor until he finally huffs out an annoyed breath and drops to his knees. Louis yelps out in surprise as Harry tugs down his sweats and pants in one go.

Louis can’t- he can’t fucking _breathe_. His breaths are coming out quickly in short huffs and it feels like he’s in a sauna that’s under the sun. Harry wraps his mouth around him and starts sucking the head and Louis feels like he’s going to black out from the oversensitivity. His current state just proves how long it’s been since he had sex and it’s so painstakingly _sad_ if it resolves him into turning into a teen that just hit puberty.

His eyes are shut tight and he cracks one open to peer down at Harry, whose cheeks are hollowed. Harry meets his eyes and _smirks_ \- who can even smirk while giving a blowjob- and sucks Louis deeper. Louis’ hands fly to Harry’s hair because he needs something to grasp on. Harry only moans at that and the vibrations feel so fucking good against Louis’ cock that he moans loudly as he comes. Harry’s such a trooper as he swallows around Louis until he finishes and then pulls off.

Louis slumps down to the floor and covers his face in embarrassment. That was what, all of one fucking minute? He’s an embarrassment to the male race. He should be shunned because he can’t control his own body just because of a blowjob. (A _fantastic_ one at that, so Louis doesn’t feel as bad.) A sixteen year old probably has more endurance than him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry’s hands circle his wrists and tries to pry them off his face.

“Leave me alone.” Louis voice is muffled against his hands. He’s a 26 year old man that is lying on a kitchen floor with his dick is still out, already almost completely soft. He is the epitome of pathetic. The embodiment of pitiful. He’s officially hit rock bottom.

“Lou, c’mon. This isn’t really how I pictured it going after giving you a blowjob. You’re really hurting my ego,” Harry says. He feels Harry’s body next to him and he finally takes his hands off his face, but stares at the ceiling.

“It’s not you, Harry. I would give you a medal if I could. Best Blowjob Giver. Congratulations,” Louis says monotonously.

“Do I have to make a speech?”

“No, you just have to top your best blowjob.”

“Well, that’s going to be hard, but if you’re on the receiving end then I’ll be more than happy to improve my skills. For the fans and all.”

“God forbid you let them down.”

Harry snakes his arms around Louis’ waist and holds him close to his chest, humming along to Jack Johnson, who is still fucking playing.

_We could close the curtains_

_Pretend like there’s no world outside_

Harry keeps him close as Louis tries to muster up any shred of hope he has left for himself. Louis feels bad because yeah, the aftermath wasn’t exactly how he envisioned it and it’s all Louis’ fault. It’s not like he’s gone three complete years sans-free of sex. He’s had a quick wank from random blokes in clubs and some drunken sex, but the last time he had sex was a probably year ago.

And it’s _Harry_. Harry with his huge fucking mouth and swollen lips and stupid tattoos and unkempt hair. So with all of this in mind, he starts to feel a bit better that they justify the reason for his breakdown.

Louis kind of wants to get up because his lower region is starting to freeze and the kitchen floor isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing around. But Harry is tracing his name on Louis’ forearm and placing kisses to the nape of his neck every now and then. He figures all of this outweighs the cons and just lies there for a moment longer.

He’s suddenly hit with a sudden thought. Louis turns around to face Harry, who has a confused expression on his face at Louis’ sudden turn. Louis’ hand travels down between them until he’s grasping Harry’s cock in his hand. He’s hard and as if Louis could be any more of an arsehole. In his self-wallowing, he completely forgot about getting Harry off.

Harry groans as Louis tightens his fist and starts to quickly stroke him. The angle is awkward and the side of his body is starting to ache due to the cold tiles, but Harry’s making these grunts that isn’t doing much for Louis and he just stares in wonderment when Harry comes between them. Harry breathes heavily into Louis’ neck and kisses his jaw.

After a moment, Louis really needs to get up, so he sits up and leans against the cabinet, wiping his hand on a dishtowel.

“That’s really unsanitary,” Harry comments as he heaves himself upwards.

“Oh, and my cock in your mouth in your kitchen isn’t unsanitary?” Louis argues.

“Well, you came in my mouth.”

“You’re the one who came all over floor, so really, you’re the unsanitary one.”

“Well maybe if you gave me a blowjob then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Why are we even having this conversation when banana pancakes have yet to be made?” Louis remarks. His stomach grumbles loudly. He stands up and pulls on Harry’s arm to get him to stand.

“Seriously though, do you want to talk or anything?” Harry asks.

“I’ll come by later tonight after work. I may or may not talk, but I’ll come bearing dinner,” Louis replies.

They finally make the damn pancakes and they’re eating on the couch when Niall emerges from his bedroom and snatches a pancake straight from Harry’s plate.

“I really hope you guys washed your hands after your fucking stunt in the kitchen. You guys have better scrubbed it spotless, have some _manners_ , you cavemen.”

\--

“Louis, I feel like for 1.5 million pounds, you can find me something better,” Danny remarks as he looks around the flat.

He’s making a valid point because Louis is certain he can find a place a thousand times better than this flat. Louis is in a complicated situation because he’s always wanted to find his clients the perfect homes and not pressure them into a flat that they aren’t 100% happy with, but he needs to sell these flats or Simon will dunk his head into a blender.

“Yes, I absolutely can, but not at this moment. Unless you’re willing to wait another three months, which I know you’re not, then this is the best you will find. It’s coming up into the holidays and nobody is moving out, not until next year most likely,” Louis explains.

“It’s a tad small, isn’t it?” Danny comments, looking around.

“1300 square feet, but remember, it’s what you do with it that makes it count. The layout is _exactly_ what you’re looking for and I can always help you find an interior designer to make use of every little space,” Louis quickly replies. “I know it’s not what you’ve envisioned as your vacation home, but the location and amenities are amazing. I understand the view isn’t grand as you were hoping, but you still know that you’re in London. Just not _tourist_ London.”

“We can’t offer at least 1.3 million?” Danny asks. “I love it, I truly do, but it’s going to be my vacation home. I won’t be here all year round.”

Louis wants to help him out and tell him that he can try to reason with Simon, but he knows that Simon would have his head if he even suggests discussing the price. He hates this part of his job and he fucking hates Simon.

“With the owner of this complex, he’s quite firm on the price,” Louis sighs.

Danny rubs his face for a moment and exhales deeply, looking around the flat. He purses his lips in contemplation and finally hangs his head in defeat.

“Looks like this is going to be my vacation home.”

It's the first time that Louis doesn't feel happy about making a sale.

\--

At the end of the day, he’s mentally exhausted and he’s reminded why he doesn’t like pressuring clients into a home. Not only because it’s not right, but also because it gives him a fucking migraine. All the talking and the shit he has to come up with isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Still, he picks up Chinese food and heads over to Harry’s flat.

Harry greets him by pressing a sweet kiss on his lips and helping him with the bags of food.

“I bought Niall food, too. Is he home?” Louis asks.

“No, he went over to a mate’s house to write a song together or something. He got a gig at a local pub,” Harry replies

“That’s great! When is it? I’ll try to make it,” Louis questions, taking out the boxes as Harry gets the paper plates and utensils.

“Friday night, but it’s quite small, probably just two or three songs. Niall will understand if you can’t make it, you know.”

“Of course I know, but I still want to at least try to come,” Louis answers. He scoops chow mein onto each of their plates along with some orange chicken and he didn’t realize how hungry he was until the scent fills his senses and he’s practically salivating.

“So?” Harry inquires as they sit down on the couch and begin to eat.

“What?” Louis asks around a mouthful of orange chicken.

“Are you going to talk?”

“What, am I being interviewed by the FBI?”

“C’mon Lou, seriously,” Harry presses. “You were pretty out of it earlier today and I’ve never seen you like that.”

Louis chews very slowly to prolong himself from answering. This is it, this is where he addresses what they have here and that this whole _thing_ \- whatever it is right now- can end. Harry might be looking for a serious relationship with and he’s just not _ready_. His stomach feels uneasy and suddenly, he’s not hungry. He sets his plate down and brings his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of his knees.

“Harry, I’m not… I’m not looking for anything serious,” Louis mutters.

He isn’t sure what sort of bubble they were living in, but it’s suddenly popped and he’s ruined their form of utopia. He hates himself for even addressing it, but he _has_ to. He doesn’t want anyone to be confused in the future and the last thing he wants is Harry to be hurt.

“What are you looking for?”

 _You_ , Louis wants to say. _I’m so glad I found you_.

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugs, staring at the swallows on Harry’s chest to avoid his gaze. “It’s just that my job keeps me really busy and especially with having to finish Simon’s complex right now… It’s not ideal right now. For me to be in a relationship.”

Harry’s eyes are burning holes into his face and he gathers the remnants of his confidence to look back at him. He’s looking at Louis as if he’s searching for something and he doesn’t know what he could possibly be looking for, but it scares him when he thinks of what he might find.

“Okay,” Harry says softly.

“What about you? You’re ready to be in a relationship after two years with Grimshaw?” Louis asks.

“I wasn’t. Until now,” Harry responds.

Louis pulls his face back a bit further so he can see his face clearly. Maybe he wasn’t clear enough on what he wanted or Harry is too hungry to have the ability to process this.

“I know what you said but,” Harry leans in to press a chaste kiss to his lips, “this is casual. We can do casual and when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Louis shuts his eyes and shakes his head softly.

“Don’t say that.”

Harry tugs Louis against his chest and says, “I can’t really see myself anywhere but here.”

Louis doesn’t think this is casual at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [packs bags] [goes into hiding]
> 
> my tumblr is almondmilktea.tumblr.com, where you can catch random updates and posts of me venting. Mostly posts of me venting.
> 
> The song by Jack Johnson that's mentioned is 'Banana Pancakes'. I don't know what rock you're living under if you haven't heard it before. Go YouTube it if you haven't and you'll thank me. Pinky swear. 
> 
> And I also wanted to say thank you guys for reading this! I'm being completely honest when I say I wasn't even expecting 200 hits or even comments, so thank you guys so so so much. I wish I could give you all cookies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School sucks and doing exams while you're sick sucks even more, so you can only imagine how I felt while writing this chapter. (Terrible to the thousandth degree, if you were wondering.)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! It's sort of different from the last one.

It’s really fucking hard to do his job when some of his clients are so stubborn.

“It’s the _layout_ you want to pay attention to. You can change the furniture or take away the cabinet handles, whatever your heart desires, but you can’t change the layout,” Louis explains for what seems the thousandth time.

“Well that just means more money for me,” Ms. Jones says.

“Ms. Jones, during our consultation I made a list of all the things you wanted and this flat fulfills them all. Besides, renovation doesn’t need to be done right away. I understand you wanted something that’s move-in ready, but seeing as your list is quite intricate, it is just not in the realm of possibility,” Louis replies.

He has three days left to finish selling out the complex and he only has two left. If Ms. Jones would just fucking look past all of the trivial imperfections, then he would have one less flat to stress over. Simon has been on his arse about finishing this complex and as the days go by, it’s really affecting him outside of work. He comes home despondent and he even takes it out on his friends.

Zayn and Liam have their own ways to dealing with Louis when he gets this way. Zayn hands him a paintbrush and a bunch of paint and Louis dips his brush into the containers of paint and just flings it onto a canvas while Liam makes him go into a boxing ring and do a couple of rounds. Harry and Niall have been great too; Harry listens to him and it either ends up with Louis on his bed, postcoital and breathless or doing something random to help Harry with the elders at work to keep his mind off his work. Niall just hands him a pint and goes on about _his_ day. Louis still feels like shit because he missed Niall’s gig. All in all, they all help but he still goes to bed stressed.

It’s better when he has Harry next to him, though.

However, when he wakes up the next morning with a voicemail that Ms. Jones would not be purchasing the flat _and_ with a runny nose and a sore throat, he doesn’t think anything could cheer him up. He calls Anna, tells her that he’s going to work from home and falls back into bed with a box of tissues in his hand.

He shoots Zayn and Liam a text saying _man down man down SOS ive been shot_.

Liam replies with _wat u shuld call the police where r u_ and Zayn says _shut the fuck up u dramatic twat_.

He hates his friends.

So Louis spends his morning wrapped in a cocoon blanket and coughing his out his lungs that feel as if someone shoved a chainsaw down his esophagus. He knows he should get his arse up and start working because he has two days left to sell the last two flats but he’s given up hope. He’ll let Simon rip him apart and then his reputation shall proceed to plummet down a black hole and he’ll never be able to face his clients again.

It’s possible that Zayn’s text was right, but he’s sick and he doesn’t care. He thinks that anyone who is sick should have a license to be a tad overdramatic.

He’s in his kitchen waiting for the water to boil for his tea, his blanket still wrapped around him, when the door knocks. He drags his doleful self to open the door and he sees Harry standing there, all smiles and exuding pure fucking optimism and Louis just sneezes.

“Uh, hello,” Louis croaks out.

“Hey,” Harry says casually as he strolls in.

“Unless I can interest you in a cold, then I highly suggest you go back to where you came from,” Louis sniffs.

“Well Zayn called Niall who told me that you’ve contracted some deathly plague and you’re in desperate need of help before it spreads and kills an entire civilization. So, that’s where I come in,” Harry explains brightly as if he’s been offered to have tea with the fucking Queen.

“I’m not incompetent, I can take care of myself. Zayn can go fuck himself.”

“Just stop talking and go back to bed, yeah? Your throat sounds awful and you’ll need it to sell the last of those flats,” Harry suggests. “I’ll bring you your tea.”

Louis sighs and nods glumly, returning to his room and collapsing on his bed in a heap of blankets. He hears Harry pattering around, probably trying to find the milk or honey in his many cabinets and drawers. Soon, Harry pads into his room with a steaming mug of tea and hands it over to Louis, who takes it gratefully and sips it, letting the warm drink cure his aching throat.

“Have you taken medicine?” Harry asks.

Louis nods.

“Have you taken your temperature?”

Louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He grabs his laptop from his beside table and types _who even takes their temperatures any more?_

Harry ignores this entirely and his eyes widen in excitement as if he’s discovered a new color.

“ _Hey!_ A laptop!”

Harry practically jumps up and down in place in excitement while Louis just blinks at him.

“Let’s learn sign language. Since you can’t talk and all,” Harry grabs the laptop and starts typing. Louis is almost shocked because he hasn’t seen Harry use any electronics, so he taps him on the shoulder. Harry looks over at him and Louis looks around his room, grabs a paper and pencil and writes _I thought you were against electronics_.

“I am. I most definitely am, but I’m doing this for your benefit. Plus, I’ve always wanted to learn sign language, so there’s that.”

While Harry is intently looking up sign language, Louis frantically texts Anna to go through his clientele to find new occupants for the last two flats. He shouldn’t even be sitting in bed with Harry, he should be _working_. But. Harry looks cute with his lips moving as he reads and his hands occasionally replicating whatever movement is on the screen. Work can wait another few hours.

“Okay so maybe we should learn the alphabet first. I’ll spell out your name and you spell out mine,” Harry says, pushing the laptop farther out so they both can see what’s on the screen.

Harry does motions with his right hand that goes by so quick that Louis barely has time to register the movements. Louis tilts his head to one side and shrugs. He starts to spell out Harry’s name, looking back at the screen in between each letter.

They spell out each other’s name a couple of more times to get the hang of it and then they move on to words like _tea_ or _hungry_ or _mine_. Harry’s looking back at the screen and he has his two fists against each other as if he’s giving himself a knuckle touch. He moves his thumbs up and down before Louis scribbles something on the paper before holding it up.

_What does that mean?_

“Sweetheart,” Harry replies, smiling softly up at him.

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he takes his pencil and writes _How about ‘how are you’ or ‘I’m thinking about you’? Nice things._

Harry goes back to researching, but can only find the sign for “think”.

“I think Google has its limits on sign language lessons,” Harry laughs softly. “We’d need to take proper classes when it comes to phrases.”

Harry twists his rings for a moment before he glances up as Louis.

“I can, I don’t know, twist my rings to show I’m thinking about you,” Harry says. Louis raises his eyebrows and writes _I wasn’t talking about us specifically, you know_.

“Yeah, I know, but still. It’s _nice_.”

_How am I even supposed to know you’re moving your rings when I’m not with you?_

“You just know.”

_You’re always moving your rings._

“I’m always thinking about you.”

Louis is about to make a comment along the lines of _can I offer you some wine with all of that cheesiness_ but his lungs give out and he breaks out into a coughing fit instead. Harry rubs his back and makes an “O” with one hand and brings his index and thumb together with his other, circling the “O” as if he’s stirring tea with a spoon. Louis knows that he’s trying to ask him if he wants his tea because they were practicing this sign earlier, so he nods and Harry smiles before handing it to him.

“Hey, we can speak sign language!” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes as if to say _I would use the word “know” very loosely._

It’s a bit scary that Harry already knows what that means because he says, “Well, we’re getting there. If we do a little each day then we can be experts in no time.”

He doesn’t know when they started being able to understand each other to the point where they didn’t even have to use words.

Louis wants to write _I’m sick, not deaf_ but he knows that Harry would make a comment about him being insensitive to deaf people so he just sips his tea and nods.

“How’s work going?” Harry asks. Louis huffs out a breath and shakes his heads. “Do you need help? I can call Anna for you.”

Louis would say no if anyone were to offer their help, but he’s so _close_ to finishing this complex, so he just nods. He’s about to lean forward to press a kiss against Harry’s lips before he stops himself. Harry just smiles at him and takes Louis’ phone and calls Anna.

“Erm, hello. This is Harry, Louis’ friend. As you probably already know, Louis is sick so I’m his voice for the time being… Open house _today_? I don’t want him to get out of bed…”

Leave it to Harry to be looking out his state of being when Louis’ reputation is on the fucking line. Louis gets out of bed and starts to change into work clothes.

“Lou, what are you doing? You’re not leaving bed!” Harry exclaims, hanging up the phone. Louis ignores him and shimmies into his trousers.

“I need to sell these flats, Harry.” Louis finally talks and his voice hurts like all hell, but he can take care of that later. Right now, he needs to go to the open house.

“No, c’mon Lou. Anna can take care of it, she’s your assistant.”

“My _assistant_. She _assists_ me. She doesn’t actually do my job. It’s just one day, I can sell the last two today and then you can play nurse tomorrow,” Louis replies quickly as he tries to get his hair into a decent state.

Harry smirks at him and Louis doesn’t even want to _think_ about thinking whatever Harry has on his mind, so he hops on one foot as he puts on a sock on the other foot.

“Your reputation won’t be ruined just because of this. People get sick, it happens. They’ll understand,” Harry reasons.

Harry might be really philosophical and deep, but he doesn’t understand business. That’s Louis’ department and he knows that people would judge him. They’ll think he’s weak because he let some measly _cold_ hold him back. He looks at his reflection in the mirror as he brushes his teeth and repeats _you can fucking do this you can sell those flats_ in his head.

“Those people are not Simon,” Louis says. He steps into his shoes and takes his hand, presses it to his lips and lowers his hand. He wants to give Harry some sort of kiss since he doesn’t want to get him sick, but also show his thanks via their sign language lesson. “Thank you for taking care of me today. I really appreciate it, but I have to go.”

“No you don’t. Stay here,” Harry whispers.

Louis sighs and straightens up, grabbing his phone and tucking it into his pocket.

“ _You_ stay here. I’ll buy dinner and we can celebrate, okay?”

Harry purses his lips as if he’s biting back whatever he wants to say. He gives Louis a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

\--

“ _Fuck yeah_!”

Sounds of bottles of champagne popping and glasses clinking against each other surround the office. Louis’ coworkers are patting him on the back and hugging him, congratulating him on his last two sells.

“I told you that you could do it,” Anna whispers in his ear as he squeezes her.

“Not without you. You’re the best assistant ever,” Louis smiles.

Anna rolls her eyes, “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t suggest that I don’t mean it,” Louis grumbles. Anna laughs, pecking a kiss to Louis’ warm cheek and goes to talk with other people from the office.

Simon approaches him, the corners of his lips turned upwards ever so slightly in his form of a smile. He raises his glass and Louis mirrors him.

“Well done, Louis. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Simon comments.

“I’m just glad it’s over, to be honest. To say it was brutal would be an understatement,” Louis replies.

“Well, expect more brutality in the near future. I look forward to working with you again,” Simon says. He taps his glass against Louis’ and walks away. He isn’t sure if Simon’s comment was him genuinely wanting to work with Louis again because he liked his work or because he had some sort of disturbing enjoyment out of torturing Louis, so he downs his wine and pours himself another glass.

By the time the office is empty, it’s already one in the morning. There’s no chance in hell he’s in any state to drive home, so he grabs a blanket from the boot of his car and knocks out on the couch in the office.

\--

Louis was planning to sleep away his hangover until someone is violently shaking him. The throbbing in his pain hits him like a ton of bricks and he groans loudly, holding his head in place.

“ _Jesus_ , will you fucking stop? My head hurts like all hell,” Louis complains. His throat still aches and his nose is clogged. He is walking death.

“Did you sleep here last night?” Anna asks.

“Well, gee, I don’t know. Was it the blanket I was wrapped in or _me_ actually sleeping on the couch that gave it away?” Louis hisses. He rubs away the sleep from his eyes and groans again. He hears Anna’s high heels against the floors walk away before returning. Something hits him hard against his stomach and he wants to kick her in the shin until he realizes it’s a water bottle.

“Here,” Anna says. He slowly opens his eyes and sees her outstretched hand that has medicine in it, one for his hangover and one for his cold. He takes them and swallows it with a gulp of water.

“I really did mean it when I said you’re the best assistant ever,” Louis says.

“Then you should really be paying me more,” Anna laughs. “Go home and get some rest or something. I think that the last place you want to be is the _office_ after the last month. Plus, I don’t want your arse to get me sick.”

“Why are you even in the office?” Louis asks.

“I called you because Mr. Williams wants a consultation. Don’t worry, I scheduled it for Monday so you have the weekend to relax, but I just wanted to let you know. You didn’t answer so I came here,” Anna explains.

Louis sighs and slowly gets up as if he’s suddenly seventy years old. He checks his phone and sees that it has 5 missed calls from Zayn, 3 from Liam and even one from Niall. The texts range from _where the fuck are you call me_ and _call me you god damn moron_ that are from Zayn and _did u sell the flats_ and _squishy luvs his spongebob house i sent u a pic_ that are from Liam.

He suddenly remembers that he was supposed to return back to the flat with dinner for Harry.

“ _Fuck_!” He shouts and Anna jumps back, startled. “Sorry, I have to go.”

He blows her a kiss goodbye and runs out of the office, into his car and speeds home.

Louis opens the door to the flat and sees that Harry’s shoes are by the door. A sigh of relief escapes his lips and he heads to his room. He finds a mess of brown waves poking out from a mountain of blankets. He smiles to himself and sits on the edge of the bed, moving all of the blankets until he can see Harry’s face. Louis has seen Harry sleeping plenty of times, waking up earlier than him so he can go to work, but he doesn’t think he’ll get used to it.

Harry opens one eye and fucking _smiles_. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns.

“Hey,” Louis says softly.

“Good morning,” Harry responds.

“It’s actually noon,” Louis comments. “Look, I’m so fucking sorry for not coming back. I sold the last two flats and the office threw a party and I just-“

“You sold the last two flats!” Harry exclaims happily.

“What?”

“Lou, it’s fine you didn’t come back. I’m just happy you sold the flats so you can stop stressing,” Harry comments, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He’s shirtless and it’s probably the first time in awhile that he’s slept in a warm bed in a flat with a heater. At his flat, he always has on a thin, raggedy sweatshirt to act as some sort of protection against the cold due to the lack of heater.

“Can you be mad at me for one moment?” Louis asks. Harry scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion.

“You _want_ me to be mad at you?”

“You’re never fucking mad at me for anything, even when I screw up monumentally.”

“You didn’t screw anything up. We had dinner plans, we didn’t have vacation plans or anything,” Harry explains, pulling the blanket up further his chest, which really helps Louis from trying not to stare at it.

“It doesn’t matter what kind of plans they were, I still missed them. You have to be a tiny bit mad,” Louis says.

“I’m not mad. I’m a bit hurt, but I understand,” Harry says, twisting his rings back and forth absentmindedly.

The thing with Harry is that he always fucking says what’s on his mind and he doesn’t say it to be blunt or to be mean, so you can’t _blame_ him. It’s just how he is and Louis would appreciate that with his clients. He needs his clients to tell him exactly what they want, but when it comes to people in his personal life, he isn’t use to it. Liam is oblivious about anything until Louis needs to bring it up and Zayn tries to pry things from Louis until he finally breaks.

“I don’t… I don’t want to _hurt_ you,” Louis finally says quietly.

“Nobody ever wants to hurt anyone,” Harry shrugs. “It happens.”

“I’d rather you be mad at me than hurt by me.”

“I don’t get mad at anyone. A man at the retirement home taught me that.”

Louis just looks at him, silently telling him to go on.

“Alfred is who I’ve been taking care of since I started working at the retirement home. I mean, I take care of others too, but I just got really close to him. He’s… amazing, Lou. You should meet him, you’ll love him.” Harry’s speaking of him so highly and there’s so much adoration in his voice that Louis wants to get in the car and meet Alfred at this very moment.

“He told me that anger doesn’t really _do_ anything. It doesn’t do anything to anybody but yourself, you know? It eats you from the inside and it starts off small until it gradually spreads and before you know it, you turn into this bitter person who acts mad at the world, but is really just mad at yourself. What does anger _really_ do to others? Nothing. Anger just hurts yourself.”

“So, what, you just removed all of the anger from your body? That emotion doesn’t even exist in your system anymore?” Louis tries his best not to sound like a cynical dick but he doesn’t understand. He gets what Harry is _saying_ , but he doesn’t see how it’s possible.

“I kind of like to think of it as an acquaintance,” Harry smiles. “I know it sounds stupid, but you can know _of_ anger and be familiar with it. Just don’t acknowledge it.”

“I don’t think that’s possible for me. I get angry with clients everyday.”

“So quit.”

He says it nonchalantly like it’s so _easy_ and his job is anything but easy. The last thing Louis wants to get into is his job when he just finished selling out Simon’s complex. Plus, he knows that they would just end up arguing and Harry will just want to prove Louis wrong.

He lets out a throaty laugh as a way to pass off the comment and then Louis’ phone goes off. He picks it up and sees that it’s Zayn.

“Does nobody call my personal mobile?” He answers as a greeting.

“Maybe because you don’t ever _answer_ it,” Zayn replies. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you last night and this morning.”

“I was busy at the office and then I had a hangover, sorry mum,” Louis says.

“Your mum would be glad I’m checking up on your arse. Did you sell the flats?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Louis says proudly and Harry grins widely at him.

“Congrats, Lou,” Zayn says and he can tell by the way his voice goes soft that they’re not bickering anymore. “Celebratory pints tonight?”

“I’ll text you later,” Louis says and hangs up. “Did you want to do anything tonight?”

“I was actually going to go to the retirement home and hang out with Alfred. How about you come? He’s a laugh,” Harry says.

“Zayn wants to go out for some pints and I actually haven’t seen him in awhile,” Louis explains. “Can I make a rain check with Alfred? I have the entire weekend off.”

Harry beams at that and nods. “How about taking it easy for the rest of the day? Your voice could use the rest.”

“Go back to your flat, you’re going to get sick at this point,” Louis says.

“Then what’s the point in going back? Can’t run away from my imminent cold now,” Harry smiles. “Get over here.”

Louis crawls under the blankets and Harry automatically wraps his arms around his waist. It’s odd that they’re in Louis’ flat. They’re always in Harry’s bed and now that they’re in Louis’ bed, it’s not the same. It’s not comfortable or familiar; it’s as if they’re in a hotel room. He prefers Harry’s stiff mattress with the floral patterns that are fading, the fraying blanket that is barely enough to cover them but they make it work anyway. He prefers the single thin pillow they share together, their faces so close that whenever Harry’s eyes begin to close, his own eyes close too.

Now, they have their own fluffy pillows to lay their heads and more blankets than they actually need. It’s getting warm under all of the sheets and Louis wants to kick them all away because it’s just not the same.

He’s never been so uncomfortable in his own bed before.

\--

Louis meets up with Zayn, Liam and Niall later that night after lounging around the flat and having dinner with Harry. They already have a booth and Louis slides in next to Niall, who hands him a pint.

“No Squishy as your date, Liam? Too busy swimming around his pineapple house?” Louis asks.

“ _Yes_ , he is actually,” Liam says and laughs. “Good to see you, mate. It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah, well I have the weekend off. Plan on sleeping it away until I have to start work again.”

“Don’t you think you should take a proper vacation?” Niall asks. “All you do is work. You live and breathe it.”

“I concur,” Zayn nods and eyes Louis.

“Alright Ernest fucking Hemingway,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Last time I checked, you’re an artist not a writer. No need with your wide vocabulary.”

“Just because I’m using words you don’t know, doesn’t mean I’m being pretentious,” Zayn replies. “And it’s been awhile since you’ve checked in, so I might have become a writer for all you know.”

Louis knows Zayn is trying to make him feel guilty and he’s doing a good fucking job at it. He always feels guilty when he can’t catch up with them every now and then, asking them how _their_ lives are going instead of ringing them up and complaining about his. He’s a shit friend and he’s surprised they’ve stuck around this long.

“I’m sorry, but hell is over and I’m back to just selling regular homes,” Louis murmurs, scratching at the wooden table with his fingernail.

“Lou, take a damn vacation. You really need it,” Liam comments. “You’re overworking yourself.”

“When was the last time you even had more than two days off?” Niall asked.

Louis goes over it in his head and he actually doesn’t remember the last time he had an actual vacation. He was working his arse off in uni to become successful that once he actually became it, he’s been working his arse off to _stay_ that way.

“Never,” Zayn answers for him.

“C’mon guys,” Louis whines. “It’s _business_ , it’s shit but it’s my job. I thought tonight was supposed to be us celebrating, not complaining about my work.”

“He’s right,” Niall relents, but Zayn looks like he wants to keep going with the conversation. Louis silently pleads at him with his eyes, trying to say _not right now_. Zayn sighs and takes a large gulp of his pint.

The rest of the night is spent catching up on each other, laughs exchanged with spilled drinks. Niall and Liam go to the bar to get another round, but as Louis looks to see what’s taking them so long, Liam is chatting up a girl and Niall is talking to some guy. Louis is a bit grateful because he wants to Zayn privately and this is the first chance he’s had all night.

“Hey, I’m sorry for being a shit friend,” Louis says. “I know I’ve been occupied with work and all.”

Zayn sighs _again_. “It’s not that, Lou. I get that it’s work because it’s _always_ work. I get that. When are you ever going to do something for yourself?”

“Work is what I’m doing for myself and whatever future I have.”

“Is that what Harry wants?”

“What does Harry have to do with any of this?”

Zayn shakes his head in disbelief. “You can’t be _that_ oblivious.”

“I’m not. _Christ_ , this isn’t some movie where I’m so dumb that I can’t see how we feel about each other, okay?” Louis says. He does know how he feels about Harry, but it’s one thing to _know_ it and actually _acknowledge_ it, which Louis isn’t doing anytime soon. Once he acknowledges it, it becomes real and something that he has to deal with and Louis has enough shit to deal with in his life at the moment. He can acknowledge that it’s casual, but he won’t acknowledge any feelings associated with it. “Like I said, it’s casual right now. It’s only been 2 months for fuck’s sake.”

“There are some people who date for two _years_ and haven’t even said the three magical words yet. Time doesn’t mean shit in a relationship, it’s what you do with it that matters.”

“Then those kind of couples need to go into counseling or something because that’s just not right,” Louis comments and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Why would anyone stay in a relationship for two years if they haven’t progressed to ‘I love you’ yet?”

“Why is the fucking sky blue? How the hell would I know, Lou? I just do,” Zayn replies.

“What about you and Perrie? You two have been dating for fucking _ages_ and you haven’t even popped the question.”

Zayn drops his head onto the table and really? He’s being a bit overdramatic. Zayn picks up his head and rubs his face with his hands.

“Have you heard a thing I’ve been saying or does it go in one ear and out the other?” Zayn questions. “I just said it’s what you do with time that matters. Five years, five weeks, it doesn’t fucking _matter_. People who are together for a couple of months can do the same amount of shit couples do in a year. Rare, sure, but _possible_. I don’t know what you and Harry do with your time but it seems that you two are ready to be settled down long before Perrie and I were. Maybe you guys are a rarity, I don’t fucking know. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing because it’s a really _good_ thing. I’m happy for you, Lou.”

At that moment, Liam and Niall finally return to the table with their drinks.

“What the hell took so long?” Louis asks.

“I got a girl’s number!” Liam exclaims.

“And I booked a gig here. Look who doesn’t have to worry about paying their half of the rent this month.” Niall has on a slightly maniacal grin, his face flushed from the mix of the warmth from the pub and the alcohol in his system.

“Hey,” Niall says, raising his pint, “to Louis- the greatest fucking salesman ever. We love you, mate.”

Louis laughs and they all clink their glasses together. He thinks his life might not be so bad after all.

\--

Louis drives Niall back to his flat and thinks _what the hell, I might as well go in_. Niall surprises him by attacking him with a bear hug, squeezing him tightly and kissing him sloppily on the cheek and proceeds to go to his room. Louis opens Harry’s room and immediately feels the cold draft, even though the window is closed.

Harry is still awake, reading a piece of paper with only the dim light that comes in through the window from the moon as light. He smiles when he sees Louis, putting the paper down.

“Hey, how was the pub?”

Louis climbs in next to him while thinking _casual casual casual_ and lays his head on his shoulder, shutting his eyes. Harry tugs him closer into his side and Louis can feel him breathing softly.

“S’fine. What were you reading?” Louis asks.

“Just a letter from my mum,” Harry answers.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you and your whole thing with letters,” Louis chuckles.

He doesn’t respond, he just traces his name on Louis’ back and he’s so content that he feels himself drifting off to sleep, but Harry moves ever so slightly and it wakes him up again.

“What’s up with you and letters?”

He feels Harry shrug underneath his head. “I like writing letters. It makes me happy whenever I get one in the post. When was the last time you were happy to get an email?”

All his emails ever contain are meeting information, asking for a consultation, or price negotiations. When Louis actually thinks about it, he hates emails.

“People don’t save emails. They read it and throw it away so it doesn’t pile up. I save every letter I get and I’m pretty sure other people do, too.”

“What did your mum say in the letter?” Louis asks quietly.

“Typical mum things. She misses me, wants me to visit, get a proper job,” Harry shrugs underneath Louis’ head.

“Will you? Get a proper job?” Louis asks.

Louis doesn’t mean to be offensive, but he’s _concerned_. He doesn’t like the fact that Harry, or even Niall, is constantly struggling to find money to pay the rent or to find something to eat at the last second. Whenever he offers to help Harry out, he flat out refuses and says he has his own job that can pay the bills, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t know how Harry can live like this, how _anyone_ can live like this. Louis would go mental and well, that explains why he’s not living paycheck to paycheck.

“No, I love my job too much,” Harry replies. “Are you up for meeting Alfred tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course I am. With the way you talk about him, I’m getting jealous.”

Harry huffs out a breath of laughter into Louis’ hair and presses a kiss there.

“Nah, no need for that.”

\--

The hardest thing anyone ever has to do is wake up, Louis decides.

Which probably says a lot about his character and whom he’s developed into in the past couple of years, all of which says he’s lazy and insensitive to people in Africa or something, but he simply cannot be blamed. He has Harry’s arms around him, warm and serene, a lumpy mattress underneath him that he’s grown to love in the past two months, and his first day of break. A two-day break, but still. He’ll take what he can get.

So really, all Louis wants to do is _sleep_ , but Harry is nudging the back of head with his nose and he really needs to fucking stop so he can get some rest.

“Lou, wake up, we’re going to go see Alfred, remember?” Harry’s morning voice is groggly and deep, each word dragging lazily.

“It’s too early, Alfred can wait another two hours. Sleepy time,” Louis mutters into the pillow.

“No, _c’mon_ ,” Harry extracts his arms to sit up and Louis immediately misses his warmth. He grabs the thin blanket and wraps it around him, but it doesn’t suffice. Harry tugs on his elbow and Louis whines, shaking his head like a child.

“Fine, I’m going to go make tea. By the time, you better be ready, mister.” Harry demands. He walks out into the kitchen and at this point, Louis knows he isn’t going back to sleep.

Louis lies on his back to stare at the ceiling that has water stains and spider webs. He rubs his eyes with his palms and groans, dragging his body out of bed and into the shower. While he waits for the ice-cold water to warm up, he brushes his teeth. He has his own toothbrush here and he doesn’t know when that happened, but he doesn’t want to give it too much thought. It’s too early to be contemplating when things between Harry and Louis started to blur from casual to- well, he doesn’t even _know_.

He steps in the shower a bit too early, the freezing water hitting him like a hundred knives to wake him up. Louis probably spends a longer time than he actually needs to in the shower, but the water has gone warm now and he’s _tired_. So he prolongs it as much as possible until he finally decides that his wrinkly fingers are a sign to get out.

He has no other clothes, seeing how that he didn’t expect to stay the night, so he slips into yesterday’s clothes and pads into the kitchen, where Harry is leaning back against the counter. He looks up and smiles, handing Louis a mug of steaming tea.

“Are you ready?” Louis asks.

“I was ready two years ago,” Harry teases, smiling over the brim of his mug. Louis eyes his loose gray sweatshirt that compliments his skin tight jeans. Louis wants to bring up the fact that Harry’s shoes are practically equivalent to walking without any shoes on because they are so beat up, but he bites it back. Maybe he’ll buy him a pair of new shoes for Christmas.

It’s eight o clock, so it’s absolutely freezing outside. He doesn’t know how Harry isn’t shivering when they’re walking to the retirement home after Louis insisted they take his car.

“You need to buy a jacket, I have on four layers and I’m still cold.” Louis’ teeth are chattering against each other and he breathes out warm air into his palms.

“I don’t _need_ one. I have on another layer under this, anyway,” Harry replies.

“It’s fucking _London_ and you have on two shirts. That’s great, Harry. Really.”

“We’re almost there, it’s just around this building here.”

They come up to a rather small building that’s worn down. It’s chipping and the forest green color has faded with time. The door screeches when Harry pulls it open for them and Louis steps inside to a nice, heated room. There are people in wheel chairs, people sleeping on a sofa, and playing bingo. It really is just like any retirement home Louis has seen in movies.

Harry guides Louis with a hand on the small of his back down a hallway. Louis sees the retirement home is already getting ready for Christmas, even though November just began. There are ornaments hanging from the ceiling and a small Christmas tree in the corner of the hallway. He evens sees a huge calendar that he made with Harry to list events and activities that month.

They approach a door and Harry knocks on it, turning to Louis to give him a soft smile. Louis barely hears a weak “Come in” before Harry opens the door and Louis sees a man lying on his bed. He has age spots on his balding head with the exception of a few patches of white hair on the side. His eyelids are drooping over his eyes so he looks tired, but he has a hint of kindness in it that makes Louis remind him of his grandpa.

“Hey Alfred, how are you?” Harry asks.

Alfred begins to speak, but wheezes and coughs. Harry immediately goes to his bedside table to grab a napkin and presses it to his nose. Alfred blows his nose and Harry pats him on the shoulder and then throws the napkin away when Alfred calms down.

“You ask me that everyday and do you really expect anything different?” Alfred laughs, his eyes crinkling so small that they don’t appear to be open anymore. Louis laughs and Alfred turns to him, a lopsided smile on his thinning and chapped lips.

“I’m Louis, Harry talks about you as if you are a gift to mankind,” Louis says. He doesn’t know if he should hold out his hand for a handshake, but Alfred clasps one of Louis’ hands in both of his and squeezes it a bit.

“I know who you are. Harry talks about you as if he couldn't have anticipated you. You’re ineffable from what I’ve gathered,” Alfred explains.

Louis tilts his head at him in admiration because he reminds him of Harry. The way they talk and the way they look at the person they’re speaking to as if there’s no one else in the room and all they’re concentrating on is that one person alone.

“I don’t know if I deserve such words,” Louis laughs lightly. Alfred releases Louis’ hand with one last squeeze and places his hands back in his lap.

“You deserve a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Louis.”

“It seems like you understand me but we’ve only just met. We’ve only just shook hands.”

“There’s more ways to be touched than just one.”

Louis looks to Harry, who’s pulled up a chair to sit beside his bed. He looks comfortable; leaning back against the seat and just appears to be listening into the conversation.

They sit in silence for a little, Louis awkwardly standing there and Alfred looks like he’s on the verge of falling asleep. Louis watches him breathing in and out, the slow rise of his chest and then falling back down.

“I’m sorry I don’t have much to say. I’m not very… _eloquent_ , I guess you can say, when it comes to words,” Louis says after awhile.

Alfred raises his eyes to meet his gaze and his lopsided smile is back again, showing off his yellowing teeth. “You don’t have to apologize for the silence. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Louis shrugs. “I just feel like we’re wasting time.”

“You don’t think it’s wasting time when we’re not talking,” Harry chimes in.

“That’s because I don’t think we’re _wasting_ time. We’re _spending_ time together,” Louis explains.

“Hey now!” Alfred exclaims. The rise in his voice results in another coughing fit and Louis feels terrible, but when he stops he has a cheeky grin. “Do you think we’re _wasting_ time because I’m an aging and withering old man?”

“What? _No_!” Louis cries exasperatingly. Harry and Alfred look at each other and laugh and Louis really isn’t finding this particularly funny.

“I actually like the silence. Everyone out there,” Alfred nods his head towards the door, “likes to keep themselves busy. Playing cards, going for a swim or a walk, indulging in meaningless conversations.”

“What’s wrong with that? Maybe they want to make use of their time,” Louis replies.

“Nothing. Of course there’s nothing wrong with doing any of that. It’s _why_ they’re doing it. They’re not doing it because they want to. They’re doing it because they _think_ they have to. It’s only because they think their time is running out that they’re doing it. They want to keep themselves occupied instead of facing the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Time is running out whether they want it to or not.”

Louis’ eyes widen at this bluntness and Alfred continues to smile at him.

“That’s a pessimistic way of looking at things,” Louis says.

“Maybe. You sell houses, am I right?” Alfred asks.

“Yeah, I’m a real estate agent,” Louis answers.

“So you sell houses,” Alfred repeats. “Why?”

“Because I have to. It’s my job,” Louis answers.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You don’t _need_ to do anything. You just think you do because that’s what everyone else is doing. Everyone works hard to get good grades to get into a good college. When you’re at college or uni, you work hard so you become successful because that’s what everyone wants. Right?”

Louis nods very slowly, letting all of his words register in his mind. It’s the exact layout of what he did while he was in school and he’s scared to think where this conversation is going to end up.

“This generation is obsessed with the future. They’re doing things _now_ so they’ll be safe in the future. But in the end, it’s doesn’t matter. That one saying about the journey, how does it go?” Alfred turns to Harry, who’s listening intently as if he’s attending a lecture.

“’It’s about the journey, not the destination’?” Harry asks and Alfred nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, bingo!”

“So basically what you’re saying is to live in the now?” Louis asks.

“I’m saying live simply. We were talking about time earlier, but that’s restraining. Don’t let time restrict you from doing what you want. You said you were a real estate agent, but you’re not. You’re a person who sells houses. You _do_ things. Label yourself as something and you limit yourself to the possibilities of whatever you want to be. You’ve strived to become successful so you have money, but is that _really_ what you want?”

Louis has no clue. He doesn’t _know_. He feels like time backtracked four years earlier when he was still in uni. It’s not like conversations he has with Harry. It’s similar, but Alfred centers it back into the true fucking meaning of life while Harry concentrates on the topic at hand.

“We should get going, Alfred,” Harry finally says. He stands up and kisses Alfred’s cheek. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“It was nice meeting you, Alfred,” Louis manages to say because he feels like anything he says wouldn’t really suffice.

“Come back soon,” Alfred smiles.

Louis and Harry return into the blistering cold once they exit the building. Louis shoves his hands into his pockets and Harry throws an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in closer to his side.

“What do you say about going to the laundry mat?” Harry asks.

Louis tilts his head up and scrunches his eyebrows at him.

“I’d say that you have some clothes that you need to clean?” Louis says it as if it’s a question because anything he says right now just doesn’t sound right. How does anyone have a right mindset after having a conversation like one he just had? He’s afraid that anything he says will be wrong.

“You, sir, are correct,” Harry answers cheerfully.

“Why don’t we just go back to my flat? You can save yourself 50p,” Louis points out.

“I got my paycheck yesterday, I can spend 50p to wash my clothes,” Harry replies.

“Call the news, you’re _actually_ washing your clothes!” Louis exclaims and Harry covers his mouth with his hand, a bark of laughter escaping his lips.

“You’re mean. I wash my clothes.”

They arrive at his flat and he stuffs all of his clothes- which consists of three shirts, three pants and two trousers- into a bag and they walk down the street into the laundry mat.

“I didn’t really see my Saturday going like this,” Louis says. He’s sitting on a dryer, swinging his legs back and forth while Harry dumps his clothes into a washer across from him.

“How did you see it going?” Harry asks, pouring in the detergent and inserting the coins. It rumbles to life, the water pouring in and his clothes washing in a cycle.

“Definitely not hearing a life altering monologue from Alfred and watching you wash your clothes.”

“I spend a good amount of my Saturdays like this.”

“You’re wild,” Louis replies monotonously.

“Hey, at the end of the day, my clothes are clean and I got to spend the day with you. It’s _simple_. You should try it sometime,” Harry laughs.

“Ah, reiterating wise Alfred.”

“Do you like him?”

“Who wouldn’t like him? He’s one of those people who I want to buy him a house on a lake so he has a nice view to look at everyday.”

The corner of Harry’s lips turn downwards just a fraction and he looks down at his feet before looking back up at Louis.

“It’s not about that. He likes where he is and that’s enough for him. He’s happy.”

“What about you? Are you happy?”

Louis thinks of his crappy flat that doesn’t even have decent amenities such as laundry machines, his torn up clothes, his job that barely pays him, his family that he left and wonders if Harry is truly happy.

Harry walks over to Louis, uses his middle and index finger to run them up Louis’ thigh, chest, all the way up to his neck until he taps his nose. He smiles and finally nods.

“Yeah, I’m happy. Are you?” His voice is soft and genuine, telling Louis that he truly is happy with where he’s at in his life.

Louis thinks of how lonely his flat seems even when he and Harry are in it, his need to dress up for people he wouldn’t care to give the time of day for, his job that makes him so restless he barely has enough energy to carry onto the next day, and his family that his job doesn’t allow him enough time for.

Louis knows, along with Harry, that it’s a lie when he says, “I’m happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're reading this chapter and thinking 'Where the hell is this story going? What is even the point to this story? Why am I wasting my time on this dumb story?', I swear to you I have an idea on it and I'll explain it once this story is done.
> 
> In the mean time, if you guys have any questions you want cleared or whatever (which I doubt anyone really cares for, but hey) then my tumblr is almondmilkteaa.tumblr.com
> 
> Or maybe drop by to say hello, that always makes my day. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for my lack of updating, but this one is a bit longer than usual so hopefully that makes up for it! I swear I'll be better when it comes to updating.

Louis doesn’t know how he ends up in certain situation when it comes to him and Zayn. One moment they would be getting paint supplies and the next they’d be having a water balloon fight. He doesn’t know how it happens but he’s okay with that because it’s just how their friendship works. Two weeks after his “break”, he decides to work from home. And really, he planned to do exactly that; _work_. Louis should really have known that his plans are thrown out the window when he decides to work from home.

With all of this in mind on Saturday, he planned on going over to Zayn’s to watch the telly and drink a couple a pints for a short break after an entire morning of work, but instead he finds himself spending the entire afternoon lying on Zayn’s bed with a joint in his hand while Zayn and Niall fuck around on the PlayStation. Louis rarely smokes, but he finds himself doing it when he’s stressed- which is pretty much always- and isn’t in the mood to get drunk. So in his mind, the next best idea is to get high.

“You _dick_!” Niall shouts, standing up in mock outrage but laughing loudly with his head thrown back. Niall doesn’t remember the last time he’s played on a game console and it was like the fucking gates of heaven opened before him when Zayn showed him the PlayStation.

“S’not my fault you suck, mate,” Zayn shrugs. “Hey, pass me the joint.”

Louis has it between his two fingers and is staring blankly at the wall above him. He brings it to his lips to inhale deeply before passing it over. He holds it in and then finally exhales, the smoke surrounding the room, a mirror image of what seems to be going on in his mind at the moment. It’s another thing he likes about getting high; he doesn’t think. Alcohol just makes everything a blur but _this_ \- this is just on another level.

“Is it bad,” Niall begins, taking a large bite out of a sandwich, “that I look forward to each passing hour because it means I’m closer to my next meal?”

Louis slowly turns his head towards where Niall is leaned against the wall across from him. He’s pretty sure that this is Niall’s fourth sandwich and he doesn’t know where Niall stores all of it because he has no fat on his body whatsoever. His head is lightheaded as he slowly sits up and leans against the headboard.

“That’s why there are things called snacks that you eat in between meals,” Zayn comments. He sits down next to Niall and passes him the joint.

“Snacks _are_ my meals,” Niall replies. While he takes a hit, Louis and Zayn exchange a glance. They know that Niall isn’t saying it so they can pity him. He’s just saying it because, well, it’s true.

“I could go for some ice cream right now. Except sherbert or rocky road. Those flavors should be banned,” Louis says.

“I fucking _love_ sherbert,” Zayn says fondly and stares at the wall across from him as if in deep thought.

“You’re a disgrace to society, along with anyone else who loves sherbert. It’s so _sour_. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like expired yogurt.” Louis makes a disgusted face at the sheer _thought_ of eating sherbert ice cream. Fucking gross.

Niall lets out another one of his uproarious laughters, the one that fills the entire room. It automatically makes Zayn and Louis laugh along with him and Christ, he doesn’t even know _why_ they’re laughing but they are and that’s enough.

Zayn start to roll up another joint and just the thought of taking another hit makes Louis’ head feel even lighter than it already is, makes it feel so light that it’ll float away from his body. He watches Zayn break the bud into pieces before rolling it up and he makes it seem like some fucking art form.

“Well then what’s wrong with rocky road?”

“What _isn’t_ wrong with rocky road?” Louis asks. He gets off the bed to join them on the floor and steals the joint from Zayn. He lights it up before bringing it to his lips and takes a deep drag, letting it fill and burn his lungs before letting it go. He needs another hit before he gets into the serious dilemma of _rocky road_. “What the fuck are nuts doing in ice cream in the first place? I mean, who wants to _chew_ ice cream? It should just melt in your mouth. And the goddamn marshmallows, _Jesus_. It’s one thing to chew it, but they’re too hard. Whoever likes rocky road should really re-evaluate their life choices.”

Louis looks at Niall and Zayn in front of him and they look blissed out and just really fucking high. Zayn is looking at him with the biggest smile on his face, the one where his eyes crinkle up. He doesn’t remember the last time Zayn had on one of these smiles with him.

“I don’t know what kind of rocky road you’re eating,” Zayn replies.

“I’m _not_ eating rocky road, that’s my whole point,” Louis says.

Niall lets out a burp after he finishes the remnants of his sandwich and rubs his stomach. “Do you have any cereal or something?”

Louis looks at him with a bewildered expression. “You’re still going?”

“Yeah, go the distance and all that.”

“Is cereal still considered cereal if you don’t eat it with milk?” Zayn asks.

The room falls silent as the question stumps them. Niall furrows his eyebrows together in contemplation, scratching his head and Louis stares at a corner of the room, drumming his fingers against the hardwood floor that has splatters of paint. It’s a simple question really and it’s starting to hurt his head because he can’t figure it out. He doesn’t even know why they’re questioning it in the first place and how they even got to this point in the conversation.

“Fuck if I know,” Niall finally says. He hauls himself up and brushes off his jeans. “I’m off to go busk. See you lot next time.”

Zayn and Louis murmur their farewells before falling into another silence. Louis rests his head back against the bed and closes his eyes. He can easily fall asleep even though he’ll probably wake up with his arse sore, but his head feels light and he’s content.

Louis doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep for before someone nudges his foot. He jolts awake, slowly blinking his eyes until his vision becomes clear and he sees Zayn, along with Perrie, sitting across from him with two cups of steaming tea. He hands one to Louis, who takes it with a thankful and tired smile.

“Heading back to work soon, then?” Perrie asks after Louis takes a couple of sips of his tea and lets it sink into his system.

He really should be heading home to actually get some work done. He probably has missed calls, emails, texts and voicemails that he should be replying to. Louis looks at Zayn, who’s picking at the loose threads of a patch on his jeans. Perrie has a soft look in her eyes as if she _pities_ Louis.

“What?” Louis asks, sitting up straighter. His arse is aching, so he wiggles around a bit until he drags a pillow from the bed and sits on it. “What’s that look about?”

Zayn and Perrie exchange a glance that Louis can’t interpret. Zayn continues to pull at the threads on his jeans and Perrie begins to comb her fingers through the ends of her hair, a sudden innocent look on her face. Her doll eyes go big and she pouts her lip a bit.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Perrie shrugs.

“I’m not daft. Tell me or I’ll tell one of my clients to look for another artist to find paintings from,” Louis threatens. With this, Zayn’s head shoots up at him with earnest eyes.

“Really, Lou?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Don’t fuck around, mate.”

Perrie rolls her eyes and throws her hands up dramatically in the air before they drop down to her lap. “It’s _nothing_. It’s just that you’ve been fucking around all day instead of working. So now, you’re probably going to stay up all night catching up on whatever you should have been doing today.”

“Hey,” Zayn points a finger at her, “we’ve been very productive.”

“No, I’m glad you guys had fun,” Perrie replies, shaking her head. “But it can’t be any good for Louis.”

Louis scoffs at Perrie, the girl who pulls all nighters jumping from club to club, trying to lecture him. “I’ve been working all morning. Sue me if I wanted to come over here and relax for a bit.”

Perrie’s eyes widen and her face splits into a wide and slightly maniacal grin. She turns to Zayn and slaps him on the shoulder, who makes a show of rubbing it. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming over?!”

“I thought you had to do that girl’s makeup all day for her wedding,” Zayn answers.

“That was _yesterday_ , which was why I was so tired and why you had to top,” Perrie clarifies.

Louis groans and drops his head into his hands. “I’m right here.”

“So which one of you tops?” Perrie asks, her head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Shut up,” Louis grunts.

“Five pounds it’s Louis.”

“No way, Louis is my best mate. He definitely bottoms.”

“I’ve known Louis for as long as you have! I say he tops.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Louis mumbles into the palm of his hands. “Please for the love of god, just shut up.”

Zayn and Perrie stop squabbling and the silence is long enough for Louis to finally lift his head to see them staring back blankly at him.

“You mean… you haven’t shagged him yet?” Zayn asks slowly.

Louis purses his lips together and stares at the door, wishing that he could teleport.

“You _haven’t_ shagged yet!” Perrie exclaims. “It’s been, what, two months? Louis, you usually get the deed done in two minutes.”

“What goes on in my personal life is no business of you two arseholes,” Louis snarls.

“Is he like, waiting on you or something?” Perrie questions. She’s leaning forward in extreme interest as if she’s gossiping with one of her other makeup friends and as much as Louis likes to give into the gay friend stereotype, he doesn’t really like to discuss the lack of his sexual life, thanks.

“ _No_. I’m not a nun, I’m putting out.”

“Is he impressive in the lower department?”

“ _Hey_!” Zayn shouts incredulously.

“What?” Perrie asks, faux-innocence.

Louis stands up and stretches, his arse sore from sitting too long. “I believe this is my cue to leave.”

“Do you and Harry want to have dinner with us some night?” Perrie suddenly asks. “Sunday night roast? Home cooked meal and all.”

“You can’t cook for shit,” Louis comments.

Perrie gasps theatrically as if Louis insulted her mum. “I can too cook!”

“Putting something in the microwave doesn’t count,” Louis retorts. He adjusts his beanie that’s falling to the side and glances at Zayn, who’s only smiling at their bickering. “Harry can cook something, he’s aces.”

“Oh, _is_ he now?” Perrie smiles. Louis imagines devil horns emerging from her platinum blonde hair and squints his eyes at her in hatred.

“What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Perrie sings, taking a sudden interest in the state of her nails. “Just interested in you and the love of your life.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters under his breath. “I’m leaving. I’ll text you about dinner. Probably won't be for awhile, though.”

Louis walks out of the flat building and contemplates hailing a cab because London autumn is in full affect. He thinks against it, deciding to just walk home and if he ends up freezing to death, then at least he had nice scenery to look at. The leaves are not only beginning to change colors, but they’re falling down and piling up on the sidewalks. It reminds him why he hates this season because this is the essence of autumn; to let go, to fall and to change. Autumn seems to be the season of beautiful and terrible honesty.

The yellow and orange leaves seem to be mocking him as he kicks them. It’s like they’re saying _look how easy it is to change and still be okay_. He kicks at them harder, watching them in the air before they slowly drop back down again, saying _see it’s fine it’s okay to fall_. He blames it on the second joint that he’s having a mental conversation with fucking _leaves_. Louis stops watching the scurried leaves and picks his head up, watching people on the bustling streets of London.

The sky is gray and it’s like a reflection on people’s outlook. Louis watches people in suits getting in their cars with a miserable look on their face, the kids who look pale with an illness that’s bound to come, and the older people who frequent cafes because they can’t find the same comfort in their homes that they had years ago. He can’t find a single good thing that comes with autumn.

He’s welcomed home with a cold breeze that washes over him when he swings the door to his flat open. His shoes against the wood floors echo, filling his flat with the sound and reminder of emptiness. Louis doesn’t know when he started to feel so uncomfortable with how lonely he is when he’s at his flat that he wants to go over to Harry’s, but he’s working late for some reason so Louis will just have to buckle up.

He’s been alone for the last nearly four years, he can do another night.

So he cracks open a bottle of wine and makes himself comfortable on the couch, watching crap drama shows on the telly, but he only lasts an hour. He gets up and starts pacing the room back and forth, contemplating on what he should do. It’s his day off and for the life of him, he cannot think of what to fucking do. Liam’s been spending his time with the girl he met at the pub, Zayn and Perrie are probably shagging, and Niall and Harry are at work.

Louis suddenly stops pacing and feels a light bulb flash in his head. He throws his coat on, slips on his shoes and grabs his keys off the counter before heading out of his flat and into his car. He doesn’t know why, but the entire ride over to the retirement home, he’s buzzing. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and actually bobs his head along to the radio. Louis just saw Harry yesterday and he’s acting like a teenage girl.

Parking in front of the retirement home, he hugs his coat closer to his body, readjusts his beanie and steps inside. Christmas music is playing softly and the sweet smell of gingerbread and eggnog suddenly overwhelm his senses. November has only just started, but the retirement home is clearly anxious for winter and Christmas.

Some of the elders are starting to stare at him, looking at him as if he’s a wild creature. He fidgets from foot to foot and looks for some sort of receptionist. But then he sees Harry walking down the hallway with an empty tray in his hands. He’s wearing an olive green jumper with his same torn up jeans and boots. His mess of hair is stuffed under a gray beanie and when his eyes fall on Louis, he stops walking. His eyes are looking up and down Louis, his mouth slightly open; the pure expression of someone who’s shocked and _this_ is why Louis was so excited. He catches Harry by surprise every time he stops by his flat, but over the past two months, it’s something Harry has gotten used to. Now, it’s like the time Louis came by his flat for the first time all over again.

“Hi,” Louis smiles.

“Hi,” Harry replies. There’s his smile and his dimple and just _him_.

“Do you need any help?” Louis asks. Harry just laughs lightly, crosses the room over to him and kisses him right then and there. It catches Louis off guard and he can only return the kiss for a second before Harry is pulling away.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s breath fans over his face and it smells like peppermint.

“I wanted to stop by and help,” Louis replies but what he really meant to say was _I wanted to see you_.

Harry’s smiling so fucking big and Louis wants to run up to each person in the room and shout _do you see that? I did that it was me I made him smile like that_. Some of them are watching them with piqued interest and Louis wants to laugh because this is his life right now.

“Buckle in, you’re in for a wild night.”

Louis never imagined himself cooking, but here he is in the kitchen, mashing up potatoes and taking out a tray of cookies out of an oven. He’s never imagined himself spending his Saturday night doing anything but hanging out at the pub or drinking wine by himself in his flat, but he’s playing an intense game of checkers against Mrs. Shaw while her husband roots for her on the side. He _definitely_ didn’t imagine himself getting a blowjob in a retirement home’s bathroom, but here he is, back against the wall while Harry bobs up and down on his cock.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis chokes out, trying to keep his voice down. He bites on the back of his hand, but he can’t help letting out a small whimper as Harry swirls his tongue around the head.

Harry replaces his mouth with his hand, smiling up at him. “You don’t have to be _that_ quiet, you know? We _are_ in a retirement home.”

So Harry swallows him back down in one go, the tip touching the back of his throat and Louis lets out a loud moan, tightening his fingers in his hair.

Harry pulls off once more and Louis is _so_ fucking close he wants to cry. “Not that loud, Lou. Some of them have hearing aids. Word spreads quick around here.”

Louis laughs loudly and Harry is _smiling_ while he’s sucking his dick. He’s laughing as he swallows, Louis smiling as he watches him wipe off his swollen lip with his thumb. He’s spending his Saturday night cooking and playing checkers for old people and getting blown in the bathroom and he’s with _Harry_ and he is so, _so_ incredibly happy.

After Louis returns the favor and they lay together trying to catch their breaths, they finally get up and check themselves in the mirror to make sure they look presentable before heading out. Louis is about to turn left into the main room, but Harry tugs on his wrist, tilting his head to the right.

“Let’s go see Alfred. He’s been whining nonstop about you wanting to see you,” Harry says.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Louis shrugs, walking ahead of Harry. He hears Harry actually giggle before he slaps Louis on the arse and he turns his head to stare daggers at him, but not without a smile creeping onto his lips. They turn to Alfred’s door and Harry knocks. They hear a vicious wheezing before Alfred’s raspy voice says, “Come in.” When they enter, he’s in his bed, exactly how he was the first and last time Louis saw him.

“Louis!” Alfred beams at him, his voice trying to exude as much cheerfulness as it will allow. “I was beginning to think you forgot about me.”

“Not in a million years, Alfred,” Louis laughs, pulling up a cheer at the left side of his bed. Harry sits across from him, on Alfred’s right.

“I’m not sure I even have a year left in me,” Alfred replies. There’s no sadness in his voice despite the fact that he’s talking about his imminent death and Louis stares at him. He doesn’t know how old he is. He doesn’t even look that old, but he's just laying in bed all day when he should be out in the main room, interacting and socializing. Louis hates to think that Alfred is just withering away alone in his room.

“Don’t say that,” Harry murmurs.

“What? I’m just speaking the truth.”

“Well don’t.”

Louis has never heard Harry’s voice with such a harsh edge to it and it’s at _Alfred_ , of all people. He looks at Harry, but he’s just staring at the bed comforter with a blank- and Louis almost sees pain if he looks close enough- expression.

“Harry-“ Alfred begins.

“I’m not asking you to lie,” Harry interrupts, “just keep the truth to yourself.”

Alfred sighs and Louis is just sitting there, numb. He feels like he’s interrupting a moment between them and he fights the urge to get up and quietly exit the room so they can talk amongst themselves. He wants to step back outside to where it’s cheerful, radiating Christmas and holidays and winter. Even though it’s quiet in the room, he can barely make out the music or anything else that’s going on. Louis is about to speak when he remembers that _silence is okay_ , but it’s as if this silence is so strong that it’s _loud_ and he doesn’t know how that’s possible, yet he feels it anyway.

“Don’t you want to go and hang out?” Louis asks. “Have you been challenged to checkers by Mrs. Shaw? She’s a champion and her husband is her cheerleader.”

Alfred smiles his usual toothy grin. “I’ve been beat by her more times than I can remember. I don’t know how she does it.”

“It’s Mr. Shaw,” Harry adds. “The ultimate secret weapon.”

“We need to get them apart,” Louis says. “Get them apart and we will finally be victors against Mrs. Shaw in the extreme game of checkers.”

Alfred laughs softly before it turns into a cough. Louis reaches over to get a napkin as if on instinct and holds it up to his nose. Alfred blows into it and he squeezes the napkin before pulling away and tossing it in the trash.

“Are you married?” Louis asks.

“Yes,” Alfred nods, “but she passed away about a year ago.”

Louis feels all the blood in his body rush to his face. “God, I’m so sorry. Let’s pretend I didn’t bring it up.”

Alfred shakes his head, with that smile still on his dry lips. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you brought her up. Nothing makes me happier than talking about her.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad?”

“I’m my happiest and saddest whenever I think about her.”

He glances quickly at Harry, who’s already looking at him. When their eyes meet, Harry gives him a small smile, a quick upturn of the corners of his lips.

Alfred begins to tell Louis how he met Elise when they were only 17 and he fell in love with her at second sight. He tells him a time when Alfred’s shoes began to tear apart and she demanded him to get new shoes. Alfred said he would have gotten a hundred pair of shoes as long as they followed her wherever she went. He recalls the days where they were struggling to pay the rent, Elise a waitress and Alfred a shoe-cleaner on the streets, and were tired when they went to bed, but happy when the sun started to peak out of the sky. Louis listens as Alfred recounts stories upon stories up, how they grew old together and how it didn’t stop them from loving each other less as not only the days went on, but as _their_ days were getting numbered.

“We both lived very happy lives and we made the best of it when we were together.” Alfred’s eyes start to turn glassy but he keeps staring Louis. He doesn’t turn away and when a single tear streams down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it. “The last thing I would want anyone to do is to feel sorry for us. We are the lucky ones.”

He hears Harry sniffling and when he turns to him, Harry’s eyes are red and his cheeks are wet with tears. Alfred rubs his hand and smiles fondly at him.

“He cries whenever I tell him the story about us,” Alfred mentions.

Harry laughs softly. “I wish I was able to meet her.”

They spend a couple more hours with Alfred until he dozes off. Harry and Louis quietly get up and leave the room, shutting the door soundly behind them. The main room is mostly empty now, except for a few who have fallen asleep on the cushion chairs. They quietly wake them up and walk them to their rooms, putting them in their beds. Louis waits for Harry as he closes up and smiles brightly at him when he’s done.

“Thank you for coming by tonight,” Harry says as they walk to Louis’ car. “You weren’t busy with work?”

Louis unlocks his car and they both climb in. “I was, but I came anyway.”

Harry beams at him, dimple and everything. He leans over the center console and kisses him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Louis thinks that he’s going to start working at home a lot more often if that means he gets to see Harry smile like this.

\--

Despite Harry’s arms around him and acting like a human heater, Louis still wakes up freezing cold. His back is sore from the uneven mattress and the blanket that is falling apart is laying in a clump at the end of the bed. He wants to huddle in closer to Harry but he repeats _casual casual casual_ in his head and stays where he is. He feels Harry nose at the back of his head and he relaxes back into it, telling himself that it’s only to let Harry know that he’s awake.

“Do you want to eat?” His morning voice is deep and drawn out, as if it’s trying to wake itself up. “I think we have some cereal.”

Louis sighs, burying his face into the pillow that barely fits both of their heads. It’s thin and flat, not doing much to act as something comforting, but he’s grown to find it comfortable anyway. He breathes for a couple of moments, inhaling rain and cinnamon and musk. _Harry_ , he thinks.

He rolls around, keeping is eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see Harry, and shakes his head. “I don’t want to do anything.” Louis feels Harry’s warm lips press against his cool forehead, the outline of his lips lingering there when he pulls away and he squeezes his eyes tighter.

“So you want to stay right here?”

Louis forces himself to open his eyes because he thinks that no matter how many times he wakes up to Harry, he doesn’t get tired of it. He doesn’t know what to think when he can feel Harry’s eyes on him; he can’t even begin to describe it. So he opens them and Harry is looking back at him with tenderness in his eyes that make Louis’ stomach lurch. His eyes are lazy, barely open and trying to fight off sleep. His hair is getting long, fanning over the side of his face and the pillow, becoming more wavy than curly. Louis doesn’t know what it is about the autumn cold morning that makes Harry’s face paler than it does later in the day when the sky is just as overcast and sprinkling on their faces when they go for a walk, but Harry smiles despite of it. He doesn’t know what it is about Harry’s warm body close to his with his fingers locked behind Louis’ back or his lips or his voice or _Harry_ in general that makes mornings more bearable.

“Yeah. Right here.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, but Louis can still see the smile there, along with the way his eyes crinkle. Before Louis can smile back at him, Harry pulls him closer. He doesn’t know how that’s possible because they’re so close that their body heat makes it feel as if they’re going to just melt and mold into one person. He doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t know how long they lay in bed for. He can’t seem to grasp the fact that the world is moving all around him beyond these walls, yet time seems to be at a standstill as he lays content with Harry.

Louis finally decides breaks the silence after a couple of moments. “Why did you and Nick break up?”

Louis always wondered this, but never remembered to actually bring it up. He doesn’t know if it’s a sensitive subject for Harry, but his face is soft, like it always is when he wakes up in the morning or right before he launches off on another one of his life lessons.

“I didn’t see myself doing anything with him. We were doing nothing,” Harry answers simply.

Louis scoffs. “You guys dated for nearly three years and broke up over something as trivial as not doing anything? Wouldn’t the solution be- and I’m just throwing out ideas- to _do something_?”

“Of course. Anybody can go out and _do something_. We went out and did a bunch of stuff. We go out and do stuff even now. What I’m saying is we didn’t want to do _nothing_.” Harry stresses and Louis doesn’t get it.

“Are you trying to sound like a redneck or are you using ‘nothing’ as a noun?” Louis asks.

“Technically, nothing _is_ a noun.”

“Alright, this isn’t a damn grammar lesson. This is one of your almighty life lessons, so get on with it.”

Harry laughs and nods, looking intently at Louis.

“How many months are in two years?” Harry asks.

“This isn’t a _maths_ lesson either.”

Harry reaches to the side of the mattress, picks up Louis’ phone and begins to tap away on it.

“It’s 34 months, including the 10 more months we were together. So let’s break it down even more,” Harry presses more things on Louis’ phone. “There are roughly 1, 034 days in 34 months.”

Louis just looks at Harry with a blank expression, completely lost on where Harry is going with all of these numbers.

“Okay…”

“So that’s a lot of days to do nothing. I mean, anyone can go out and go skydiving or backpack across the south of France, but that’s only a handful of days. Most of the time, you’re going to just be around the flat. I couldn’t imagine just sitting on the bed and lounging about with Nick,” Harry explains.

Louis isn’t sure if Harry is indirectly referring to them, because that is exactly what they are doing. He’s wondering if Harry is trying to be subtle and insinuate something, but Harry always says what’s on his mind. Louis is trying to let all of Harry’s words sink it, from the anger lesson to finding someone to do nothing with. And, well. Louis thinks that somebody is already in front of him.

Suddenly, images of sleeping in with Harry next to him, going to the laundry mat, visiting Alfred and their entangled limbs sprawled on the bed are filling Louis’ mind. It’s a strange sense of _this is the rest of your life_. Louis thinks that fact would be the thing scaring him, but what’s really making him shiver is the fact that he’s okay with it.

He realizes that they’re sitting in silence and Louis has yet to respond so he gives Harry a smile and says, “Or maybe it’s because ol’ Grimshaw is getting so old that he’s ready to check into the retirement home.”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh. "It's fine, we're still mates. He goes his way, I go mine."

Louis fits his face where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder and tries to squeeze in tighter to him, but they’re close, _impossibly_ close but Louis still feels like he can’t get him close enough. He wants to ask him where he's going and if he'll let Louis come. He tries not to think about how Harry’s tracing his name on his back and what it means. Louis tries not to think about how his cheek fits perfectly into the depression of his shoulder and tries not to think about how it’s only been two months and that they’re failing at keeping this whole thing casual.

\--

The rain is hitting gently against the window in Louis’ office as he stares at his computer screen before him, the screen burning his eyes so he has to look away and rub tiredly at them. He checks the time on his watch, which reads that it’s one in the morning. Louis exhales and unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt, just wanting to get the hell out of his uncomfortable formal clothes. When he worked long hours, he used to take out his phone with the intent on texting Harry, only to realize Harry doesn’t even own a phone. Now, he just constantly checks his watch so he can see how much time is passing by that he’s not with him and well. That’s a new level of pathetic for him.

Louis rolls his chair over to his window and looks out. He can make out people huddled under their umbrellas beneath the fluorescent lamps; a kid splashing in a puddle and laughing, an old man opening the passenger door for his wife. He wants to be one of them. He wants to be going to the warmth of Harry’s flat and arms and just _sleep_. He’s been working since eight in the morning. He should have been home hours ago, but his phone is just constantly ringing and he can’t just ignore it.

So, here he is. Miserable and knackered, holed up in his office while trying to find a house to set up an open house for his clients. He thinks that Alfred would be shaking his head at him, saying something about his life being anything but simple at the moment.

There’s a knock at the door and Louis lets out a tired _huh_. Anna peeks her head in and smiles sadly at him.

“Death is beckoning me,” Louis comments. He rolls his chair back to his desk, looking at the papers before him and groans.

“Shouldn’t you be heading off?” Anna asks, walking into the room and pulling her coat tighter around her petite body.

“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you here so late?” Louis says.

“Rescheduling some of your appointments,” Anna answers. Louis whips his head up quickly with his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sorry. I _think_ I just heard you say that you rescheduled my appointments but that can’t possibly be correct because I did not tell you to do so,” Louis replies.

Anna rolls her eyes at his attempt of being authoritative and intimidating. Louis has always appreciated Anna and he’s positive that he wouldn’t be where he is now if it weren’t for her to keep him in line and sane. He doesn’t know how Anna keeps calm while Louis is on the edge of a train wreck. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s Louis’ arse and reputation on the line, but still. Anna is all fucking calm, cool and collected.

He’s sure that the fact that Anna doesn’t take him seriously should be a sign that he’s not doing such a good job at being her boss, but Anna appreciates and likes him, so he has that at least.

Anna tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shoves her hands into her coat pockets. She shrugs carelessly, pursing her lips before speaking. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if your hair started falling out from all of the stress you’re under. I just rescheduled them by a few days so you can have a couple days of rest. A _proper_ rest.”

Louis chews on the end of his pen, thinking of how to reply nicely. “I appreciate that, I _really_ do. But a few days are _crucial_ because people want to find homes as soon as possible, yeah? Some of them are staying in hotels or their parent’s house. Who the hell would want to stay at any of those places longer than they need to? I can’t afford a few days of rest. I need those days to be spent on finding them homes. Besides, the holidays are coming up so work will slow down like it always does. So will you please reschedule them back?”

Anna holds his gaze for a few moments. Her lips are still pressed together as if she’s fighting back her words. She has her eyebrows scrunched together and Louis can barely make out her brown eyes because they’re almost squinted together from her hard scrutiny at Louis.

“Yeah, okay,” Anna sighs and retreats back to her desk, the sound of her heels getting further and further.

Louis just wishes that everyone would get off his fucking back about working so hard. He’s been doing this for four years, so he has a pretty good idea on what he can and cannot handle.

He leans back on his chair and rubs his face, taking deep breaths. The only sounds are the rain against the window and the distant clicking of fingers against a keyboard. It’s just quiet enough for Louis to be left alone with his thoughts so he either needs to get back to work or get a drink.

The latter seems like an ideal choice, but Louis really isn’t up for a drink, so he grabs his coat off the back of his chair and puts it on. Walking out to the front office, he sees Anna working at her computer. She looks restless and out of all the years they have been working together, Louis has never seen her like this. The energy looks completely drained out of her and he’s beginning to wonder who’s the overworked one here.

Her makeup is beginning to smudge, her under eye bags are more prominent than he remembers. Her hair is a disarray of light brown waves that usually frame her face but now it’s just a haphazard mess. It’s not even how she looks, but Louis can _feel_ that she’s exhausted. Anna is full of energy and she takes command of a room, which usually is a complication when it comes to her and Louis, but they make it work. They’ve been making it work for four years and he really fucking hopes that Anna will stick by him for another four.

Louis forgets that he’s not the only one pulling the entire load when it comes to work. Anna gets left with his bullshit work; rescheduling clients, calling interior designers, setting up open houses, making fliers for the open houses, getting him coffee or tea. He has a sudden urge to hug her and hope that it will say everything he should have said a long fucking time ago.

“Hey, just go home, alright?” Louis says.

Anna stops typing and her eyes slowly drift from her computer screen to his eyes. “I’m not done rescheduling, though.”

“Just do it tomorrow. We’ve been here all day emailing clients, let’s just take a break.” Louis tries to give her a smile, but it ends up only being the corners of his lips going upwards just ever so slightly.

“Why, Louis Tomlinson, time is of the essence. Why mustn’t waste a _second_ ,” Anna grins. She’s already standing up and shutting off the computer, getting ready to leave as soon as possible.

“Screw you,” Louis laughs. He waits for her to put on her coat and they begin to walk out to the parking lot. As soon as Louis pushes the glass doors open, the cold and the rain strike them; winter in London slapping them right in the face. Louis swears under his breath and Anna pulls out an umbrella and holds it above them.

“You’re a savior.”

“I’m well prepared.”

“It wasn’t raining earlier!” Louis defends.

“That’s kind of what being ‘well prepared’ means,” Anna replies and Louis can practically _feel_ her rolling her eyes.

They’re huddled together under her tiny umbrella, Anna’s arm looped around Louis’. He can only wonder what they might look like to strangers’ eyes. They look like a scene from a movie, really. Except they’re not in love or going to be in love. They aren’t waiting out their feelings for each other. It’s all picturesque except for the fact that the person next to him isn’t who he wants it to be.

They walk to their cars in silence, the rain hitting against her umbrella. He’s always liked the sound of rain against an umbrella or the top of his car, just any surface. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it’s always been soothing to him. The sound is a nice reminder that nature is with him even when the world isn’t.

Their cars are conveniently parked right next to each other, so Louis leans down to peck her gently on the cheek before dashing off to the refuge of his car. He’s immediately engulfed in warmth and peppermint due to the car scent Harry got the other day to ‘get into the Christmas spirit’. So his car might smell like Santa’s workshop, but it reminds him of Harry and he actually has to bite back a smile.

At a red light, Louis is contemplating going over to Harry’s, but he makes a turn to his place because he’s a grown fucking man who can spend a night or two in his own flat. It might be an empty flat with an eerie silence that has grown more and more prominent as the days pass, but the rain is there to comfort him at least.

\--

There are multiple reasons for Louis to be excited for December. First of all, it’s his birthday month, which really, is the most important of all. There’s also Christmas and work slowing down and _winter_. Autumn is done, the worst season of all, and winter is _finally_ here. The last two weeks of November were chaos and havoc as clients were rushing in last-minute appointments and consultations to find a home before the holidays began. But now, it’s dwindling down and Louis can actually fucking breathe.

December also calls for cold noses, pink-tinged cheeks and chapped lips against Harry’s. So he’s really happy when he’s lying in Harry’s bed, his tongue slipping in and out of his mouth while Harry’s hands slip underneath his sweatshirt and explore his chest. Louis gasps at Harry’s ice-cold fingers pressing along his abdomen, trailing up and down. Harry takes the opportunity and slips his tongue in, causing Louis to moan softly. Harry presses his thigh between Louis’, making him open his legs so Harry can settle between them.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Louis sighs as Harry nips at his jawline, “I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

Harry’s breath tickles his neck when he laughs. “Oh, but I am.”

“How very dare you,” Louis trails his hands up Harry’s back to tangle in his hair. “I at least expected it to be more of a production. Candles, scattered rose petals, the whole lot.”

Harry pulls his face back to smile down at him, his hair falling downwards to tickle Louis’ face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I would, actually.”

“You’d want me to cook you a proper meal and carry you in here, bridal-style?”

“Sounds perfect. I’d also like a working heater and _you_ , preferably sans-clothes. Why _are_ you still wearing clothes?”

Harry leans down to kiss him, laughing into his mouth. “So demanding.”

“I want what I want, I can’t help it,” Louis says. He reaches down to the hem of Harry’s sweater and tugs on it, signaling Harry to take it off, which he does. Louis stares at all the tattoos scattered across his body and lightly traces the swallows with a fingertip.

“What do you want?”

Louis knows what Harry is really asking. He swallows and thinks about all the time where he wants Harry closer, despite the fact when they’re laying pressed up against each other. He can’t bring himself to say it though, he feels the heat inching up his neck just at the thought.

“You know what I want,” Louis pouts. “Don’t make me say it.”

Harry grins wickedly at him, gripping the bottom of Louis’ sweatshirt and pulling it over his head. “C’mon, Lou.”

Louis wants to hide his face under the pillow. He’s never had so much trouble asking someone to have sex with him and that’s probably because he’s never _had_ to. His skin is so heated from blushing along with Harry on top of him. He’s on the verge of just settling with foreplay. He’s _been_ settling with it for the past two months and hell, he can resolve for one more night. But he doesn’t want to because Harry’s slowly pushing his hips against Louis’ and rubbing circles on his waist with his thumb. There’s snow slowly falling and settling against the window and just the thought of how cold it is outside sends a shiver up his spine.

“I want youinsideme,” Louis rushes the last end of it out and hides his face in Harry’s neck. Harry pulls back and peppers kisses all over Louis’ face, over his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead.

“ _God_ , Lou,” Harry’s voice sounds strained and urgent. Louis opens his eyes and he sees Harry staring down at him with such fervor and fondness. He looks wrecked and they still have their fucking trousers on, so Louis quickly reaches down to unbutton Harry’s jeans while straining his neck up to kiss him.

Their kiss is messy and hasty while they finally, _finally_ get their kit off. Louis is stroking Harry’s cock as Harry tries his best not to rock his hips down, breathing heavily into Louis’ neck.

“Wait, just let me-“ Harry chokes out just as Louis squeezes his hand, letting out a loud moan. “Christ, hold on, you’re killing me.”

Louis laughs, stroking his own cock because he needs the friction as Harry reaches into the bedside drawer that Louis forget existed because they don’t even use it. Harry pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom before settling back down between Louis’ legs. He shimmies down the mattress and knocks Louis’ hand off to envelop his mouth around his cock.

Louis pushes his hips up on instinct and Harry moves his hands to grip his hips, pressing them down into the mattress. His chest is heaving with how hard he’s breathing, his heart beating loudly in anticipation. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s pulling at Harry’s hair until he hears Harry whimper around him, the vibrations moving throughout his entire body.

“Come here,” Louis breathes out, tugging on his hair softly. Harry pulls off, licking at the head once more to tease and kisses his way up Louis’ body. Louis wraps his arms around Harry, pressing them chest-to-chest because he needs to know if it isn’t just him. He needs to know that it isn’t just him that feels like his body is going into overdrive.

Louis kisses Harry desperately, his legs on either side of Harry’s hips so their cocks are rubbing against each other and it feels so, _so_ good. Harry’s kissing him back just as urgently, rubbing his hands up and down the length of Louis’ thighs. He can feel Harry’s heavy heartbeat against his chest and he wants to get him _closer closer closer_. Harry seems to understand because he reaches over to grab the lube. They’re still kissing so Louis gasps into his mouth when he feels Harry’s slick finger rubs at his rim.

Louis whimpers as Harry pushes his finger in and starts thrusting it in and out. His forehead is beading with sweat and they haven’t even _done_ much yet. His eyes are shut tight and he just focuses on the feeling of Harry’s long finger trying to stretch him out. He feels a second finger pressing in and moans when he crooks them deep inside him. Louis claws hopelessly at the mattress, wishing there were bed sheets so he can just have something to grip on, so he scratches his nails down the length of Harry’s back instead.

“ _Harry_ , I-“ Louis cuts off when Harry’s fingers hit his prostate and his hips lift off the mattress. Then there’s a third finger stretching him out and he’s breathing is shallow.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry breathes. “So tight.”

Louis throws his head back as Harry continues to thrust his fingers. Harry takes the opportunity to suck a bruise onto his neck, his warm lips against his heated skin.

“I-I need you inside,” Louis doesn’t even know how he’s managing any sort of vocabulary when he has Harry’s fingers pressing against his prostate.

Harry pulls away, his fingers slipping out and Louis misses the warmth of him already. Harry’s quick to roll the condom on and slick himself up with shaky fingers. Louis splays his legs and Harry molds himself against Louis once again, kissing him deeply before pulling away and pressing the tip of his cock against his him. Louis nods at him and Harry slowly presses his hips forward. Louis is far from a blushing virgin, but it’s been awhile. He blinks away the tears that are forming at the corner of his eyes and tries to focus on Harry’s lips against his jaw, murmuring _fuck_ and _feels so good_ and _I’ve been waiting for you_.

When Harry’s hips are finally pressed against Louis’ skin, he has to take a moment to feel the burn and stretch of him around Harry’s cock. Harry’s patient, sucking onto his neck and rubbing his hips with the pad of his thumb.

“Okay,” Louis whispers, nodding.

Harry moves his hips back a bit before thrusting back in and _fuck_. Louis doesn’t know how he went so long without sex, without feeling pure and complete bliss of being fucked into, the feeling of somebody so close to him. And it’s _Harry_ and Louis is so, so lucky to have Harry like this, who looks wrecked even though he’s the one who’s rocking his hips into Louis.

He tightens his legs around Harry’s waist and he thrusts in faster, the sound of their skin slapping against each other and Harry’s heavy breath echoing in his ears.

“You look so good like this,” Harry whispers in his ear. “Wish I could always have you like this.”

 _You can_ , Louis thinks. He just whimpers instead, clenching around his cock. Harry groans into his neck, snapping his hips faster. He wraps his fist around Louis’ cock and starts to stroke him. Louis can feel the familiar tightening in his lower stomach, the feeling of being on edge and with one more stroke and a twist of his fist at the head of his cock, Louis comes between their chests with an arch if his back and a strangled moan.

Harry moves his hips at a quick pace, thrusting so fast that Louis moves further up the mattress and he can feel when Harry comes, his cock pulsing. Harry’s breathes heavily against the center of his sweaty chest, trying to catch his breath. He slowly pulls out, tossing the condom into a plastic bag at the end of their bed. Harry grabs the blanket and covers it over them, gathering a restless Louis into his arms.

Louis can barely feel Harry pressing kisses all over him. He’s exhausted and the only thing he can do is curl up closer to Harry, pressing a kiss to his jawline. He sprawls himself out so he’s half-lying on Harry; one of his legs strewn across his body and his head on his chest. Louis can feel Harry’s hands behind his back and he hides his smile against Harry’s skin when he feels Harry twisting his cool ring back and forth against his spine.

He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Louis has sold hundreds of homes, declared things such as a fireplace or a view the perfect touch to make someone move in and start their life in their new house. But now he realizes that he doesn’t know the first thing about homes.  Up until now.

He thinks it’s dangerous, the way Harry’s arms fit perfectly around his waist, the way the make a home there and pull him in tight against Harry’s chest. He think it’s dangerous how Harry’s hands automatically finds Louis’ hands when they walk beside each other, slotting into each other as if they were meant to be there. In the middle of the night, when Louis fits his face into the crook of Harry’s warm neck, it feels like coming home.

Louis thinks that he has never felt more at home than with Harry on his beat up mattress.

And this epiphany just screams _dangerous run away and don’t look back_ to Louis because now he knows what homesickness feels like. He clings to Harry tighter, resulting in Harry pulling away just enough to study his face.

“Do you have work in the morning?”

It’s a strange question to ask at a moment like this, Louis thinks. He furrows his eyebrows, but nods.

“Don’t go, okay?” Harry asks, but the tone of his voice makes it sound as if he’s pleading. “Stay here. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and we can go do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care, we can do anything you want.”

“I don’t know what I want to do. I’m here right now though. I might go to work tomorrow, but I’m here.”

Harry’s gazing at him and he shakes his head softly. “I don’t care if you’re here to say good night as long as you’re there to say good morning.”

Louis’ throat is caught as he’s at a lost for words. He doesn’t know what to say, he can’t promise Harry that. So he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and murmurs, “Good night.”

In the morning, Louis quietly slips out of bed and kisses Harry's forehead, covering his body with the blanket. When he heads off to his flat to get ready for work, he pretends to not feel Harry's eyes burning into his back as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the smut. Let's not talk about it because it was my first smut scene and my cheeks were blushing so hard while I was writing it, I don't know how I managed to finish, but I DID IT. So I hope the smut scene makes up for my lack of updating also, although it was horrible so don't hate me.
> 
> Another reason for my lack of updating is because I already wrote the ending, which I mean, what? I jump around when it comes to writing a lot and so yes, the ending is complete! I just need to do the in-between chapters and while I'm looking at it right now, it's going to be about 7 chapters, maybe maybe less because I'm having difficulty stretching this story over the course of a year, so if it seems very rushed and things, I'm trying my very best not to.
> 
> Tumblr is almondmilkteaa.tumblr.com if you guys want to give feedback or anything. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you guys go yelling at me for how terrible I am at updating, I just wanted to say this week was incredibly busy because there was signing up for classes, Thanksgiving, family events and the end of the school semester so it's going to get busy unfortunately.
> 
> But, I do have the ending complete and since this story is coming to an end, it won't be as hard to finish it. I don't know if you guys would prefer two chapters or one incredibly long one?
> 
> Anyway this one is a doozy and I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

Ever since Louis turned 25, he’s hated his birthday because each year is a reminder that he’s one more year closer to thirty and he’s not really in a rush for that to happen anytime soon. When he turned 26, he made sure to shut himself off from civilization and holed himself in his flat. His plan was successful until the last hour before midnight, when Zayn and Liam had a fucking _fireman_ tear down his door to get inside. Louis thought it was some horrible joke, thinking that they paid him extra to be dramatic and he would suddenly start stripping, but it was a real fireman who thought Louis was in dire need to be saved from a blazing inferno.

Anyway, the whole ordeal didn’t end well with either parties; Louis and the fireman yelling at Zayn and Liam while they yelled at Louis for being an idiotic 26 year old.

So this year, Louis really doesn’t know what to do, not only with his birthday in five days, but also with Harry. The past week has been giving into Harry and then abruptly pulling away, claiming he has to go home to do work. When Louis lays in bed at night, he really thinks that it would be easier to put a name to what they are or whatever it is he’s feeling- although he’s pretty sure he knows what it is, he’s almost fucking 27 years old after all- so that it’d be easier to deal with, but that means establishing what they are and any other feelings related with it, so yeah. No thanks.

The office is open for two more days until it’s closed for the rest of the month and Louis is lying face down on the floor of his office, trying his best to think of anything but Harry, when he should be calling back his clients that keep ringing him. There’s a knock at his door and he mutters into the floor. He doesn’t even have to lift his head to know it’s Anna.

“This is a new low for you,” Anna comments and he really doesn’t appreciate her pun at a time like this.

“I don’t appreciate your pun at a time like this,” Louis says into the tiles that are cold against his lips. He really hopes the janitor cleaned them last night.

“Well what the hell are you doing on the floor?” Anna asks.

“I’m having a _crisis_ ,” Louis seethes. He finally turns over onto his back, staring at the ceiling; the bright, fluorescent lights burning into his eyes.

“A crisis that resorts to you lying on the floor during work?”

“You’re making me sound really pathetic, which is doing absolutely nothing for my self-esteem.”

“You’re the poster child for pathetic right now.”

Louis sighs, gripping the edge of his desk and hauling himself up. He falls down into his plush chair and sinks down. “Did you have any other intention to come into my office besides to insult me?”

Anna laughs softly. “You have a four o’clock consultation with Mr. Clines. That’s in an hour, so I suggest you tidy up and act like a professional.”

“Remind me who he is?” Louis rubs his eyes restlessly and runs his finger through his flat hair, not even caring if it looks a mess.

“Um, short and letting himself go. Can’t blame him, he’s quite old,” Anna replies.

Suddenly, Louis shoots up from his seat and Anna jumps back, startled. He looks around his desk frantically for his keys until Anna rolls her eyes, walking over to his coat and retrieves it from the pocket. She dangles it in front of his eyes with her eyebrows raised in interest.

“Thank you,” Louis says, reaching around her to grab his coat. “I need to see someone, but I’ll be back in time to see Mr. Clines.”

He shrugs on his coat and calls Niall while walking out to his car. He rarely calls Niall because he values his minutes too much and whenever he needs him, he’s already at their flat. Niall finally picks up his phone just as Louis unlocks and climbs into his car.

“What’s up Lou?” Niall answers.

“Hey, do you happen to know if Harry’s at work?” Louis asks.

“He just left to pick up groceries. Are you swinging by?”

Louis starts the engine and begins to drive to the retirement home. “No, I was just wondering. Don’t tell him we talked, okay?”

“Sure, whatever.” Louis can imagine Niall shrugging carelessly with his guitar in his lap and he smiles.

“See you later,” Louis replies and hangs up, tossing his phone in the passenger seat. It starts raining then, the droplets beating against his windshield and Louis just concentrates on the white noise instead of how he hasn’t exactly planned out what he’s doing as he drives. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, so when he parks and runs into the home, soaking wet, he just stands there. A plump lady with a kind, but curious smile walks up to him.

“Can I help you? Possibly a cuppa or a towel?” She takes in his appearance, his coat dripping down onto the carpet and his hair plastered against his forehead, and chuckles.

Louis smiles. “I just came in to speak to Alfred.”

“Oh,” Her smile brightens. “Just sign in and you can go see him.”

She walks away and comes back with a clipboard and pen in hand. Louis quickly scribbles his name, flashes her a quick smile, and heads off to Alfred’s room. He knocks and he doesn’t hear the familiar raspy coughing he’s come to get used to before seeing Alfred. He can barely make out the soft whispered _come in_ before he quietly turns the doorknob and walks in, shutting it gently behind him. Alfred is at his usual spot and Louis just wants to see him walking around or even sitting at the chair near the window. He wants to see him anywhere but his bed, where it seems as if he’s a prisoner there.

Alfred smiles widely at him and holds out his arms. Louis laughs, walking up to him and hugging him, feeling Alfred pat his back with cold palms. He slips his coat off his shoulders and takes his usual seat next to Alfred, who’s looking at him patiently. He isn’t looking at Louis expectantly, as if he’s wondering why Louis came. He’s looking at him happily, his eyes tired but pleased at his presence. Louis knows that they can just sit here for hours in silence and Alfred will be content with that. He almost feels guilty for coming to him with a reason when he knows that Alfred is just satisfied with his company.

“I, um, wanted to talk to you,” Louis starts off awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers.

“About what?”

“Harry.”

Alfred smiles knowingly and Louis shifts around uncomfortably in his seat, thinking about how Alfred was just waiting for this conversation to come up. He sits up further and settles comfortably against the pillows before turning his head back at Louis. He just nods his head with a quick raise of his eyebrows and Louis clears his throat and sits up straighter in his seat. He’s nervous; Louis hasn’t voiced his feelings or this whole ordeal with anyone and he’s only seen Alfred _twice_. But when Louis looks at his warm and kind eyes, he feels himself calm down a bit before speaking.

“I don’t know what Harry has told you, er, about us,” Louis begins. “We’re not anything, not really. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious and I’m still not. My job just makes it hard to have a relationship so I told him that and he’s okay with it. It’s just that recently I feel like it’s getting serious with us and it’s only been three months, but I just _feel_ like…”

He doesn’t know how to finish because he doesn’t know what he fucking feels. There are 26 letters in the alphabet that can create millions of words to be strung together to form a sentence and Louis cannot think of any combination to express what he feels for Harry, can’t think of any that will suffice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say,” Louis mumbles.

Alfred chuckles, pulling his blankets further up his chest and settling his hands underneath them. “He’s happy. Are you happy?”

It’s a conversation he’s had with Harry before, but this time Louis shakes his head.

“Then fix it,” Alfred says simply.

Louis inhales slowly and exhales, trying not to get impatient, but out of all times Louis really needs Alfred to be philosophical, _this_ is the time. He probably senses it because he looks at Louis hard in the eyes, all the playful and lightness in them gone.

“I’m going to tell you what I think, but it is in no way advice so don’t feel obligated to listen to what I say,” Alfred replies. “I don’t know much about your side of the relationship with Harry and I’m not going to tell you what Harry tells me about it. However, I _will_ tell you that you can find a job that pays you enough money to set you for the rest of your life, but it’s not everyday that you find someone who listens to you talk about your flaws at night and still kisses you in the morning.”

Louis bites the inside of his lip and nods his head slowly, his mind going back to a night in November where he and Harry were on his mattress, the flat warm because the heater decided to come to life for the day, but Harry held him close anyway. It was so warm for an autumn night that their proximity was making them sweat and Louis felt Harry tracing his name against his slick back. Louis told him how he was terrified of the future, so he works hard now so he doesn’t have to worry. He told Harry with his lips against his neck about how his dedication to his schoolwork cost him his relationships back in uni. Harry’s breath fanned across his cheek while Louis told him how lonely he’s felt and smiled when Harry pulled him in closer. Louis always wakes up before Harry so he can get ready for work, but the next morning he woke up to Harry twisting his ring back and forth before he met Louis’ gaze and kissed him good morning.

“What are your plans for the holidays?” Alfred suddenly asks. Louis breaks out of his reverie, gazing back at him.

“I haven’t seen my family in nearly two years, so I’ll come down to visit them in Doncaster,” Louis explains.

Alfred’s thin eyebrows rise up in surprise, his eyes going wide. “ _Two years_? What on earth have you been doing?”

“Work,” Louis answers simply because it always goes back to work.

Alfred sighs, settling back further against the pillows. His eyes close for a moment and then he opens them again, turning his head to face Louis. “I’m not a parent, so I can’t say I understand what you’re putting your parents through, but I’ve got to believe that it’s heartbreaking.”

Louis ignores the last bit of his statement because if he doesn’t, then tears will threaten to fall down and the guilt that he’s been setting aside will finally swallow him whole. “You have no children?”

“I have Harry,” Alfred’s eyes glisten with happiness. “And when he doesn’t visit- although it’s very rare- it does make my day a bit more bleak. I can only imagine what it would be like if I wouldn’t get to see him for two years.”

He knows what Alfred is doing; he’s trying to subtly push Louis to go see his family and if it were anyone else, Louis would just ignore them and down a bottle of vodka, but now he finds himself standing up and grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.

“Thanks Alfred,” Louis says. He takes Alfred’s bony hand and squeezes it gently. “I’ll come back soon. I have a bunch of stuff to do.”

“Not work-related, I hope?”

“No, I need to go see my family.”

\--

The rain is pounding down, his windshield wipers working on overtime to push them away, only to have started back at square one when more rain gathers up again. After leaving the retirement home, he got into his car to begin his drive to Doncaster with his phone shut off. Louis was driving on autopilot, just watching blankly as his the windshield wipers went back and forth. He doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he’s there, but all he knows is that he needs to see his family; it’s a long overdue visit.

When he pulls up to his old house three hours later, he turns off the engine and just stares at the house he grew up in. His house that held so many bright memories looks dull under the gloomy sky, the plants he used to help his mum water beginning to wilt and the grass he used to play football in starting to turn brown. The window shutters are closed, but he can see the dim light peaking through them.

As he walks up, he has a strange sense of calm throughout him. He thought he would feel nervous and anxious and on edge, his heart beating loudly against his chest and his hand comes up to knock against the wooden door unconsciously and suddenly his mum is swinging the door open and he’s _home_.

His mum’s eyes widen when she sees him, looking him up and down with bewildered eyes as if he’s some newly discovered species and then he’s wrapped up in his mum’s arms. Louis wants to fucking cry because it’s been so long, probably two years since he last saw his family and there are no words to describe what it feels like to hug his mum after so long. He feels like he’s six and in his mum’s arms when he scraped his knee playing football, hearing her muttering comforting words against his hair. His eyes are wet against his mum’s neck and she squeezes him tighter before pulling back and looking at him.

“About time,” she whispers. “Do you _realize_ how much I’ve missed you?” Her cheeks are damp with the tears that are falling down slowly from her cheeks, but her smile is so wide and it’s all so overwhelming that he laughs and hugs her once more.

“Mum, who’s at the door?!” A voice shouts.

There are footsteps against the cold, wooden floors and then Louis sees all his sisters huddled together, their mouths dropped open at the sight of him. All at once, they come thundering to him and he’s slathered in kisses suffocated with tight arms around him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who _cares_ , he’s here so what does it matter?”

“Well it’s nearly been two years, I’m just wondering why the sudden show up!”

“Why didn’t you give us a heads-up before you came?”

“Alright girls,” his mum laughs. “Go make your brother a cuppa and finish baking the cookies while I speak to him.”

They grumble out complaints and it’s been _two years_ but it feels as if they haven’t changed at all. His mum drags him to the living room, pushing on his shoulders so he sits down on the couch. He looks around, smiling because they have the fire burning and there’s a Christmas special on the telly. Instead of dolls and toys scattered across the floor, there’s headphones and nail varnish. It’s been two years and it feels as if things haven’t changed, but they have.

“This couch is getting lumpy,” Louis remarks, trying to get comfortable. “Do you want a new one? A mate of mine owns a furniture shop and-“

“I don’t _care_ ,” She rolls her eyes. “How have you been? Really?”

Louis shrugs carelessly. “Fine. Just wanted to stop by before coming down again for Christmas.”

“Oh, so you’re coming down this year then?”

He winces at her sharp tone and he knows she’s bitter at him for not making an effort to visit them or call them during the past two years. When he was in uni, she supported him when he said he wanted to become a real-estate agent, but would always frown when he said he couldn’t go back home because he had to study for exams. She threw him a party when he got hired for the company he works for, but bit her lip to prevent her from saying anything when he had to go to work early the next day. When he was on the cover for a business magazine, she smiled at him and told him how proud she was of him. However, when she opened the magazine and read the interview where Louis said his job prevents him from seeing his friends and family a lot, but he loves it anyway, he swears he saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“Don’t do this.”

“How’s work?” His mum presses.

“It’s _great_ ,” Louis emphasizes just to spite her and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Don’t think just because it’s been two years that I don’t know when you’re lying through your teeth,” She says. “I know you and you don’t come down sporadically. You’re Louis Tomlinson. You plan out your outfits three days before you’re actually going to wear them and you probably have January planned out already, so why are you here out of the blue?”

She’s not wrong and he sighs, falling back against the armrest, crossing his arms across his chest, digging his feet in between the cushions

“There’s just a lot of shit going on in my life right now and I wanted to get out of London. Don’t ask me why or who or what, it just is. I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis replies.

Before his mum could argue, his sisters emerge with a plate of cookies and a warm mug of tea.

“I’m _finally_ being treated like the proper prince I am,” He grins, taking the cup of tea from Lottie and kissing her cheek.

“You’re being treated like the shit brother you’ve been,” Lottie says and his mum glares at her.

“Maybe I should be a shit brother more often then.”

He knows his mum wants to pry information out of him, so he occupies himself with hanging out with his sisters, watching telly with them and even attempting to paint their nails, but ended up getting more varnish on the floor than on their nails.

“How long are you staying for?” Fizzy asks while they’re huddled together under a wool blanket, munching on cookies.

“I don’t know,” Louis replies. “I didn’t really think this through. Anna will probably have my arm.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, turning it on. The bright screen burns his eyes, a contrast against the door room except for the telly. His phone begins to vibrate, notifications from his emails, missed calls and text messages. He cringes as he catches a glimpse from Anna that says _answer my bloody phone calls this instant or god so help me I will send a mass email to your entire clientele with an attached picture of your naked bum and a cock drawn on your back in icing at your birthday party three years ago_.

“I’ll be right back.”

He untangles himself from his sisters’ limbs and catches a knowing glimpse from his mum, but quickly glances away and walks down the hall into one of his sister’s room. He collapses back against the bed and phones Anna. While waiting for her to pick up, he reaches under his him and pulls out an eyeliner digging into his back and tosses it across the room.

“ _Finally_!” Anna screams and he pulls the phone away at her volume. “You’re an absolute twat and I don’t know why I succumb myself to working with you. Do you even realize what kind of hell you’ve put me through today? Did you _completely_ forget about your consultation with Mr. Clines? What the hell is going on with you, Louis? You’ve never been so unorganized before.”

“Anna, I’m so sorry, but I just had to see my family today,” Louis sighs.

“Seeing as how we’re closed the day after tomorrow for the rest of the month, you couldn’t have warned me so I could reschedule with Mr. Clines? Shoot me a text, send a goddamn pigeon, I don’t _care_. I rescheduled your appointments and _you’re_ the one who told me to schedule them back, but there you are, at your mum’s house for an unplanned break. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do,” Anna rambles.

Louis shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Anna’s right; he’s _never_ been so disorderly and acting on instinct before. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t even remember the last time he jotted his plans down in his agenda and followed through with them. The past three months has just been him being late for works, last minute phone calls, and working from home. He needs to get his shit together before everything he’s been working for is completely for nothing.

He sits up straighter against the headboard and clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll personally call Mr. Clines and apologize. I’ll work it out with him.”

He hears Anna sigh tiredly. “Look, I know you want a break and all that. _I_ want you to have a break. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you have to let me know beforehand so things run smoothly.”

His _assistant_ is lecturing him and if that’s not proof that he’s gone haywire, then he doesn’t know what is. “Roger that.”

Louis hangs up and groans. He lets himself wallow in self-pity for only a moment before swinging his legs off the bed and returning back into the living room. His sisters are fighting over the last bits of the cookies and his mum is watching from the kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She looks at him and motions her head towards the seat across from her.

“Girls, go to your room and do your homework,” his mum orders.

“I’m not ten years old anymore, I’m practically an adult,” Lottie contradicts her statement when she places her hands on her hips like a child. “And it’s winter hols, so there’s no homework.”

His mum rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re an adult and with or without homework, you’re living under my roof so do as I say. And I say _go._ The whole lot of you,” she says with an undertone of fear and demanding that Louis recognizes. The voice with a hint of _you better do what I say or you will not see the daylights for a month_ that she used to always use on him.

They scatter down the hallway with groans and huffs of complaints, Lottie mumbling about wanting to move out.

“This night requires more than tea,” His mum laughs softly, standing up. She opens a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of wine, pouring it into two glasses. She hands one to Louis before sitting down, taking a large gulp.

He knows what’s about to happen; his mum is going to have one of her deep conversations about what he’s doing and this isn’t what he came down for. In fact, he doesn’t even know _why_ he came down and that’s what bothers him the most. He’s used to planning his days out and now that he’s suddenly doing things spur of the moment, he feels lost.

“I don’t want to talk about what’s going on back home, okay?” Louis begins.

“Louis, I haven’t seen you for almost two years and you haven’t told me anything. _I’m_ the one calling _you_ and that’s only for two minutes, if I’m lucky, because you’re always on the phone with your clients. What do you expect us to talk about?” She asks.

“How the girls are doing in school, what university Lottie is going to, how _you’re_ doing. Those are just a few things off the top of my head,” Louis replies, sipping his wine.

“If you cared, then you would have called.”

He can practically feel her words slapping his face and he grits his teeth, trying not to get angry. The fire is still burning in the living room; the warmth spreading throughout the house and with the combination of his wine, he feels hot under his sweater. Louis looks away and picks at the wooden table with his fingernail, seeing where he carved random things with his fork like _winter_ and _home_ and _mummy_ when he was a kid. It’s been over a decade and she still hasn’t replaced their table that has one shorter leg than the rest, so it’s lopsided. He glances down at it and sees a thin book wedged underneath it to balance it out.

“I care,” Louis mutters. “I left but I cared and I’m gone, but I still care about you and the girls. Is it so bad I moved away and started my own life?”

His mum smiles, the wrinkles forming at the side of her eyes and he wants to smooth it out with his fingers because they weren’t there two years ago. “Of course not, love. But it’s bad that you forgot the life you had back here.”

Louis purses his lips, swirling his wine in the glass. “I’ve been busy. I’ll be sure to visit at least once a month in the new year.”

“Oh, it’s brilliant to know that you’ve put a quota on how much you visit us.”

“Well, what exactly do you want, mum? Because right now it seems like whatever I say isn’t really satisfying you.”

“Nothing. I mean, _you_ have everything you want, isn’t that right? Fancy flat with money to roll around in, your mates, your _clients_ ,” His mum shrugs.

He and his mum were always close up until he started uni and started focusing on his schoolwork. They began to drift apart, but his mum never showed any resentment towards him. He’s never seen his mum act this way towards him before and it makes Louis want to claw his eyes out because he doesn’t know what she _wants_.

“Mum, I don’t want to leave here in a bad note. I’m _sorry_ for not keeping in contact and I’m sorry for being horrible,” Louis says.

His mum begins to tear up and she lifts the glass to her lips, downing the rest of the wine. Louis has only seen his mum cry once; when his parents divorced when he was a kid. When he asked where his dad went, his mum told him that it didn’t matter and that she wasn’t going anywhere. He remembers feeling her trembling chest against his back when they fell asleep together that night, her tears falling down into the top of his hair.

“I’ve missed you loads,” She says. “You’ve got your own life and career, I understand that. It’s the fact that you left and you made it look so easy for you.”

“It wasn’t,” Louis shook his head. “Leaving you and the girls was difficult. More so than uni work and my job put together.”

She smiles a bit at that, giving up and Louis feels himself relax. He gets up and hugs her tightly, her arms winding around his waist to pull him closer.

“You ever go that long without seeing us again I will come to London myself and make you pay so much that no amount of money you ring in from your clients can help you, Louis Tomlinson.”

\--

Louis has been so used to waking up nearly freezing to death, but with a warm body pressed against him that it’s strange when he wakes up to a warm house, but a cold bed. He hears his sisters bickering through the thin walls of Lottie’s room that he kipped in. He reaches for his phone and sees that it’s nine o’clock, a decent time to make a business call. Louis dials Mr. Cline’s number and relaxes into Lottie’s bed.

“Mr. Tomlinson! I was expecting you,” Mr. Cline replies happily to Louis’ surprise.

“Good morning, Mr. Cline. You’re doing well, I hope?” Louis asks.

“Ah, yes, I’m just having a cuppa. It’s chilly this morning.”

“It’s London,” Louis states and he hears Mr. Cline chuckle down the line. “I wanted to apologize profusely for not showing up for our consultation. It’s entirely my fault, I had other plans that I should have organized more.”

“Like I told your assistant, it’s not like I’m a busy man,” Mr. Cline laughs heartily. “When is the best time for you?”

A client has never asked him that in his three years of working and Louis smiles widely. “I’m actually in Doncaster right now. If I leave right now, I can make it back to my office by eleven. Would half past be alright with you?”

“I’ll see you half past eleven, Mr. Tomlinson.”

There’s a knock at the door and before he can even reply, it’s creaking open. “Looking forward to seeing you, Mr. Cline.”

His mum is leaning against the frame with a plate of toast with eggs and tea. Her undereye bags are prominent in the morning with her tangled brown hair pulled away from her face in a bun.

“Breakfast in bed before you go,” She says, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. She places the tea on the bedside table and hands the plate to Louis, who takes it gratefully.

“I’ll come down for Christmas with presents and all,” Louis promises, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Oh, your sisters are expecting a lot from you this year. You better not disappoint them or they’ll have your head,” She laughs.

Louis shrugs, smiling and gulping down his tea. He’s already done all of his Christmas shopping and it’ll probably take a separate truck to bring down all of his gifts he bought for his family. He brings his plate out to the kitchen to have breakfast with his sisters, who are seated in front of the telly with their plates balanced in their laps. He plops down next to Lottie, who smiles at him and steals the last piece of his toast, taking a large bite and grinning triumphantly.

When he leaves, he hugs each of them so tight that he still feels the warmth of them when he’s driving back home. Louis doesn’t let himself cry though because he continues to tell himself that he’s going to see them in a couple of days again, but he still feels tears threatening to spill over the rim of his eyes. As he gets nearer to home, he can already feel the stress of work spreading throughout his body, the restless nights and the energy being pulled out of him. He wishes that he scheduled his consultation later so he can visit Harry and sleep, but he decides to get it done sooner so he can end the day with seeing Harry.

Louis pulls up to his work and when he enters his office, Anna instantly gets up from her seat, stomps up to Louis and shoves him as hard as she can. He stumbles backwards, surprised at how strong she is.

“Brilliant greeting, thanks.”

“You deserve it for being such a twat,” Anna hisses, returning to her seat. “Get comfortable, you have a long day ahead. You have some very unhappy clients so I hope you’re satisfied with your stunt.”

Louis thinks of his mum’s cooking that he had in bed this morning, attempting to paint his sisters’ nails, and getting to feel winter with his family again.

“I actually am happy with my stunt so if _you’re_ doing being a prat, get your arse back to work.”

\--

It’s nearly midnight when he’s done at the end of the day, working extra hours at the office to make up for the past day. He slumps down in his seat, tossing his pen at the opposite wall and stretches out his throbbing fingers. He checks his phone and sees that there are no missed calls, feeling a bit disappointed that there are none from Niall. He was hoping that he would call to see where Louis was for the past day because Harry has been nagging him or _something_ to show that Harry has missed him. Louis hopes that Harry’s twisting his ring around because now that Louis is so close to him, he’s just realized how much he just wants to see him.

Anna waltzes in without even knocking and lets out a big sigh. “Had a fun day?”

“Brilliant,” Louis mumbles. “I’ve only been working my arse off for the past twelve hours or so. Not a big deal or anything.”

“Hey, at least the office is closed until New Years,” Anna says, too cheerful for Louis’ liking.

“Well, we’re both done for the night. Go on home and have yourself a nice, long and well-deserved break. Why you couldn’t have just visited your mum tomorrow is beyond me.” Anna rolls her eyes.

“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

“That’s exactly what concerns me.”

His teeth are chattering when he walks to his car and if he breaks the speed limit to get to Harry’s flat, then he’ll keep that to himself. It’s only been one fucking day and he can feel his heart beating in excitement when he makes his way up the creaking stairs and knocks on the door.

The door opens and it’s only been one day, but Louis flings himself at Harry. It’s only been three months and Louis knows this is more than casual, but he refuses to acknowledge the fact that it’s something more.

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry breathes out, his arms tightening around Louis’ waist. “Where have you been?”

Louis exhales a sigh of relief, glad that Alfred didn’t tell Harry about his visit. He pulls away and kisses him instead of answering, tasting cheap beer on his tongue. His fingers are tangled in Harry’s hair and when he pulls away, it feels slightly greasy and he laughs into his lips, wiping his fingers against his shirt.

“Hey, mate.”

Louis pulls away to see Niall lounging on the couch, his pint raised in greeting.

“Do I get a snog as well, then?” Niall grins, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“Afraid not,” Louis replies. The guitar is seated next to Niall, but Louis notices that the telly is gone. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he tilts his head at Harry.

“Where’s the telly gone?”

“Oh, we had to sell it,” Harry answers nonchalantly. “A hundred twenty quid for that piece of crap, can you believe it?”

Harry’s hand circles Louis’s wrist, dragging him to the already small couch. Niall moves to sit on the floor, his back against the coffee table while Harry and Louis settle down on opposite ends of the couch. Louis wants to ask them if they need anything if they’re at the point where they have to sell their things, but Niall begins talking.

“So what plans do you have for your birthday, Lou? A massive party? It’s in, what, three days?”

Harry nudges Louis’ foot with his own. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on anything,” Louis shrugs.

“Well plan on something now,” Niall urges. “Something small at your place or whatever.”

“Don’t tell me you’re working on your birthday,” Harry sighs.

“No, the office is closed for the rest of the month,” Louis shakes his head. Harry smiles brightly at that, sitting up against the armrest.

“Alright well, all the more reason to get pissed off our arses,” Niall says.

Louis yawns and shakes his head again. “I don’t want to do anything. I just want to save my energy for Christmas. My sisters are mental, I can barely keep up with them.”

“You’re only turning 27, Tomlinson, not 57,” Niall says. He pushes himself up and stretches. “You lads going to sleep?”

Harry glances at Louis and nods. “Yeah, Louis’ knackered.”

Niall clasps his hand on Louis’ shoulder and squeezes. “27, mate. Not 57, remember that.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning!” Louis shouts when Niall’s grabbing his jacket off the counter. He hears Niall mumbling something about Louis probably being 57 as he leaves after all and he laughs.  When he leaves, he turns to Harry who’s smiling at him for just a moment before attacking him. His lips are moving slowly against Louis’, his hands gripping his waist.

Harry pulls away and rests his forehead against Louis’. “Leave me a message the next time you go, yeah?”

Louis reaches up and pushes Harry’s head down to meet his lips, kissing him with force and eagerness, but nods. It’s only been a day and he didn’t realize how much he’s missed Harry until he felt Harry’s fingers intertwined with his again; the familiar feeling of being home.

\--

They slept in till noon and they’re tangled together with the rain as company. Harry’s breathing softly behind him, his cold fingers trailing up and down underneath Louis’ sweatshirt, causing him to shiver. Louis wants to ask Harry what he’s doing over Christmas because he doesn’t know if he’s going to go see his family or stay here with Niall.

“Do you really not want to do anything for your birthday?” Harry asks.

“I really don’t,” Louis mutters.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t like celebrating getting old.”

“You’re not old, Lou.”

“Well I’m getting there,” He sighs. “I’d rather not be reminded of it.”

“Does that mean I can’t get you a present?” Harry says.

Louis shifts over to face Harry and pokes his nose. “I feel like I should be offended at the fact that it’s only three days until my birthday and you haven’t gotten me anything, but I’m not. Don’t even think about it.”

Harry actually giggles and scrunches his nose like a fucking bunny. “Too late. Thinkin’ about it.”

“I don’t want anything. I really, _really_ don’t so don’t waste your money on anything, okay?” Louis replies.

“You’ve probably already bought me something,” Harry huffs. He pulls Louis in closer with a hand on the small of his back and leaves it there, tracing random patterns on his skin.

“That’s very presumptuous of you,” Louis says.

“Or I just know you that well,” Harry smiles.

Louis leans forward to peck a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose and then his cheek, his lips trailing against his skin until he reaches his lips. It’s only a lazy drag of their lips, slow and drawn out. Harry barely slips his tongue in Louis’ mouth before Louis pulls away and Harry glares at him.

“Are you going to see your family for Christmas?” Louis asks, resting his head back on the thin pillow.

“Yeah, I’ll be back two days after. When are you coming back?”

Louis actually didn’t plan on how long he’s going to stay with his family, so he shifts around uncomfortably. “I was thinking about staying there until New Years, actually. I haven’t spent time with them properly and I’ve missed them loads.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry nods, squeezing him tightly. “I hope you get drunk to wash away the guilt of leaving me for New Years.”

Louis laughs, craning his neck to kiss him again. “I’m going to be around my sisters and mum, I highly doubt I’ll get drunk.”

Harry rolls over so he’s on top of Louis, his hips pressing against Louis’. Louis bites back a moan when Harry pushes their hips together so their cocks brush against each other and Harry is only smiling devilishly down at him.

He leans down to nip at Louis’ neck. “I hope you feel guilty all the same.”

When Harry slips his hand into Louis’ trousers to stroke his cock, he really has to bite his lips from moaning out loud because the walls are thin in this complex and he doesn’t want the neighbors calling the tenant for noise complaints, but when Harry thumbs over the head of his cock, he knows that’s the end of that.

\--

Harry has to do some grocery shopping for the retirement home, so after they laid in bed, post-coital and trying to regain their breath, they finally drag their selves out of bed and into the freezing cold. Louis begs Harry to let Louis drive, but Harry refuses because he likes to walk and see the London streets with the Christmas decorations.

He supposes it’s a good idea because the London streets are crowded, with cars and pedestrians. Everyone seems to be doing last minute shopping, their arms overflowing with shopping bags. It takes them twice as long to get to the grocery store because Harry keeps offering to help people bring their bags to their cars and all of them accept gratefully.

Louis doesn’t admit it out loud, but the Christmas decorations _are_ beautiful. There are red ribbons tied on the lampposts, wreaths hanging on doors, and the pure white snow painting the streets and bare trees, their leaves long forgotten once autumn ended. There are Christmas lights strung above them and he reminds himself to take Harry for a walk at night so they can see the streets lit up at night.

“I’m going to catch a cold before my birthday and Christmas, I hope you’re happy,” Louis says through chattered teeth.

Their holding hands and Louis has one pair of gloves, so he split it between himself and Harry, wearing it on his left hand while Harry wears it on his left so it’ll keep those hands warm while their body warmth keeps their other hands warm with them being intertwined. Harry only smiles and grips his hand tighter.

“Look, Lou. I’m a dragon,” Harry says. He glances at Louis to make sure he’s looking before huffing out a breath and seeing the cloud of cold air form.

Louis is completely endeared with an idiot.

“And I’m the lonesome princess stuck in the tower that you’ve kept me prisoner in,” Louis replies.

Harry huffs out a long breath, creating a bigger cloud of air and adding sound effects of what Louis assumes is a dragon. “You’ll never escape!”

Louis throws his head back in laughter because Harry is ridiculously adorable for someone who is 24 years old.

“By the way, there’s no prince to save you in this story. There’s just you and me. Nobody else matters,” Harry says.

“Mm, sounds good to me,” Louis replies. Harry turns his head to grin widely at him, his dimple showing. His rose-colored lips are a stark contrast against his pale skin, but compliment his pink tinged cheeks. Louis forced his beanie on Harry, so only the long pieces on the side that are in a much needed haircut are poking out. Louis has accumulated clothes over his flat over the past three months, so he also made Harry wear one of his bigger jackets. Harry complained that he felt like his mum was dressing him, but Louis didn’t care because he couldn’t stand when Harry shivered from the cold with only his three thin layers of shirts to protect him against the London winter.

After making their way through the crowd of exhausted shoppers and children who are on a sugar-high, they finally get to the grocery store that is bustling with people. Harry pulls out a list from his pocket and reads over it quickly.

“Grab a cart, this is going to be a mission.”

They spend the next hour fighting for the last of the potatoes, trying to find the best ham, contemplating which spices to buy, and whether or not the elders would prefer apple cider or wine.

“Just grab both of it,” Louis says.

“That’s going over the budget, though,” Harry replies.

Louis ignores him and places both drinks in their cart, pushing it down the aisle so Harry has to take long strides to catch up to him.

“You’re not paying,” Harry says.

“I didn’t say I was,” Louis picks up a can of corn and pretends to take an interest in it before placing it in the cart.

“You didn’t _have_ to,” Harry groans.

Louis stops abruptly and pokes Harry in the chest. “Okay, _fine_ , I’m going to pay and there’s nothing you can say that is going to make me do otherwise. So you can either accept it or waste your time trying to convince me not to. It’s your choice.”

They’re having a stare-down in front of the canned food section. Louis has his arms crossed over his chest and Harry towers of him with his eyes are narrowed. Suddenly, he grasps Louis’ face in his hands and kisses him. It’s quick but firm, his lips urgent against Louis’. Harry pulls away, his lips stretched wide in a smile that Louis can’t help but mirror.

When Louis pays for it, even food for Harry and Niall, Harry pockets the receipt and they walk to the retirement home, their hands holding bags full of food for the elders and Louis feels happy about that as he watches people stuffing the boot of their cars with their shopping bags.

\--

The next two days follow a similar routine; they wake up at noon and lay in bed until one of their stomachs begin to growl. Harry makes them breakfast with the grocery Louis bought them while he sits on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. Their water bill is probably going to be higher than usual because they find that they enjoy shower sex with the warm water and steam engulfing them. Louis’ happy that Niall doesn’t complain, mainly due to the fact that their fridge is more fully stocked than ever and Harry makes him proper meals.

The night before Louis’ birthday, he has his body strewn across Harry’s, his leg across his waist and his head on his chest. Harry keeps checking Louis’ phone, the light brightening the dark room and Louis wants to ask him why but his eyes are beginning to droop. Harry checks it one more time, holding up above his face and Louis turns his head up to face him. Harry turns his phone to Louis and he has to pull his face back so the brightness doesn’t hurt his eyes. He squints and he just sees the home screen, which reads midnight.

“Happy birthday, Lou.”

Harry puts the phone away and tugs Louis in closer so he can kiss him. The room is fully dark now except for the moon peeking in through the window and it’s almost as if it’s intruding on them. Louis wants to buy Harry curtains so it can just be him and Harry. He pushes Louis fully on his back so he can cover him with his body, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush Louis, but Louis finds that he wouldn’t mind.

“So, where’s my present?” Louis asks against his lips.

Harry chuckles and pulls away to reach the bedside drawer. He rummages through it and pulls out a manila envelope, settling back down next to Louis and hands it to him.

“It’s not much,” Harry shrugs. “You don’t have to open it right now.”

Louis weighs it in his hand and it feels light as paper. Paper is probably the only thing that will fit in a manila envelope and he contemplates opening it, but he just sets it aside and kisses him.

“I’ll open it when I’m alone in my flat,” Louis replies. “Thank you for whatever it is.”

Harry’s answer is cut off when his phone begins to buzz repeatedly. Louis reaches across Harry to pick it up and reads his notifications.

_Happy birthday love you see u in the new year – zayn_

_happy bday lou ily lots have a good 1 – liam_

_Happy birthday old man! Relax during your break!! Love you! – Anna_

As if Niall could hear the incessant vibrations, he shouts out, “Happy birthday, Lou! Please spare me and don’t have loud sex tonight!”

Harry laughs loudly and climbs on top of Louis, kissing him and rolling his hips against Louis’. When Harry slips inside Louis and begins thrusting, they make sure to over exaggerate their moans. They have to muffle their laughs against each other’s skin when Niall starts to yell out random noises to drown them out. When they come, they moan loudly only to end up in laughter when Niall begins to pound on the wall.

When the noise finally dies down and they’ve regained their breath, Harry kisses Louis goodnight but he feels Harry tracing his name until he finally falls asleep.

\--

“At this rate, I might as well be living at your flat instead,” Niall says, his mouth full of sausages. Louis scrunches his nose in disgust and avoids Harry’s eye contact.

It’s the following day and to his relief, nobody has made a big deal out of his birthday except for texts and phone calls to wish him a good day. Harry and Louis both have to leave in a couple of hours, but they’re all at the shoddy table eating dinner that Harry made for them.

The comment doesn’t seem to throw off Harry though, who shrugs and spears his own sausage. “That way we can have all the sex we want without disrupting your precious sleep.”

“Yeah,” Niall grumbles. “Thanks for your show last night, by the way. Arseholes.”

Louis ignores them because all he can think about is the fact that Niall basically suggested that he and Harry should live together. Not only that, but also that Harry wasn’t even _bothered_ by it, he didn’t even flinch. Louis decides that all of his friends have gone mad because it seems like it’s just him who thinks that it’s only been three months and that it’s too soon to be domesticating himself up.

 And _sure_ , maybe the combination of the fact that he’s been spending more of his time at Harry’s flat than his own and that when he is at his flat, he can’t fall asleep because Harry’s not next to him contradicts that statement of not wanting to be domesticated, but Louis will ignore that also. He’s ignoring a lot of things these days, but when Harry nudges his foot under the table, all he can focus on is Harry’s eyes on him and the stupid hair tie he has in his hair because it’s getting too long and he may ignore a lot of things, but he won’t ignore Harry.

He may ignore his _feelings_ for Harry, but he’s only human and can only do so much at one time, so sue him.

“Are you guys going to have wild animal sex before leaving? It’ll be nice to have a warning so I can leave my _own flat_ ,” Niall says.

“If you thought last night was bad-“

“Shut up,” Niall stands up and throws his plate in the trash. “I’ll leave you two prats alone, I’m off to Ed’s. Happy birthday, Lou. Have a good holiday, mates!”

He lets out a large burp and shuts the door behind him, leaving Harry and Louis alone. Harry just shakes his head fondly and grabs their plates, tossing them in the bin. He leans against the counter and crosses his arm across his chest.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asks.

It’s not a question that comes up a lot because they usually just hang around the flat by default. It’s become a part of their routine and Louis doesn’t know when this whole thing started from random visits to a daily routine. It’s all of these little things that add up to equate into something that is everything _but_ casual. Louis doesn’t even know if he’s trying to prevent it from happening because he knows it’s probably too late now, but he’s still going to ignore how he feels.

Louis looks out the window to see the snow falling slowly and turns back to Harry. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Louis makes Harry bundle up again and if he forces a beanie on his head, it may or may not be because his little ponytail is ridiculous. They split Louis’ gloves again, holding each other’s hands tightly so they can exchange body warmth between them. The streets of London have Christmas lights strung across them and lights are wrapped around the trees, making everything light up as far as Louis can see. They’re not walking to anywhere in particular; they’re just making their way through the crowds of people and walking aimlessly in comfortable silence. Harry begins to breathe out warm air so the cloud of cold air forms, making dragon sound effects and Louis laughs, stepping closer to Harry.

When Harry begins to twirl around like a ballerina with his hands locked together over his head, Louis jumps on his back and Harry runs down the street, dodging everyone walking by. Then, Harry tells Louis to stand still and he begins to drag his foot through the snow around Louis. When Louis looks down, he sees that Harry drew a heart around him and Louis wants to roll his eyes and kiss him at the same time, but Harry already beat him to it, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in, their lips sliding against each other underneath the bright lights and falling snow while people make their way around them in the middle of the sidewalk. Louis never wanted to celebrate his birthday today, but he feels like it’s the best birthday he’s had so far.

They make their way back to Harry’s flat with less entertainment, but contentment. Louis parked in front of the building so after Harry goes in to grab the manila envelope, Harry walks him to his car before Louis has to go back to his flat and pack before leaving. Harry has Louis caged between him and the side of Louis’ car, playing with the buttons on his coat.

“Drive safely,” Harry replies softly.

Louis rolls his eyes this time. “I will and I’ll see you in the new year.”

Harry kisses him quickly and pulls away to kiss him once more on the forehead. “Have a good Christmas, Lou.”

“You too,” Louis cranes his neck to kiss him once more. Harry returns it forcefully so that Louis’s head is bent back, but kisses him back with just as much eagerness. Finally, Harry pulls off and steps away so Louis can get to his side of the car. Louis smiles at him and walks around the car to get in.

He looks out the window to see Harry with Louis’ jacket, beanie and one glove. His jeans stand out against the snow and his tattered boots are fighting its last battle. There are people making their way around Harry, some of them staring at him as if he’s gone mad because he’s just standing in the middle of the sidewalk watching Louis. Harry lifts his index finger to his eye and Louis tilts his head as if to say _what the fuck are you doing_ before Harry moves his finger down to point to his chest and then finally at Louis, a small smile on his snow bitten lips.

It takes a few seconds for Louis to comprehend what Harry is trying to say and when it finally sinks in, his mouth goes dry and his fingers are shaking against the steering wheel and at first he thought it was because of the cold but now he’s certain it’s because of this boy. He’s staring at Harry, who’s _still_ smiling at him as if he’s completely endeared at the dumbfounded expression Louis has on.

He doesn’t know how long they’re staring at each other for, but when he finally feels his muscles again, Louis swallows a lump down his throat and gets out of the car. He only sees Harry while he pushes his way through the crowd and stands in front of him.

“What did you just say?” Louis breathes out, his voice shaking with each word.

 “I didn’t say anything,” Harry shrugs.

Louis begins to think this is a hallucination or something, but then Harry smiles widely, his dimple accompanying it.

“I love you,” Harry says.

Louis’ eyes widen and he looks around, but the world is still moving on. The ground hasn’t suddenly turned into a black hole that he’s going to fall down in and his heart may be beating so loudly that he’s concerned he might be having a heart attack, but everything is _fine_.

Except for the fact that Harry has established his feelings and thus ruining what they are. Louis doesn’t think he can say those words back to him, doesn’t even think that he can sign it back to Harry if he wanted to because he’s frozen in place once again. He’s playing it back in his head and staring at his finger where they silently declared how he felt for Louis.

“Why did you say that?”

“Because I do.”

Louis closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing. “Why did you say that _now_?”

“Would it have made a difference if I said it last night? A week from now? A month?” Harry asks. “I said it now because it’s how I feel and how I’ve _been_ feeling for longer than you can probably guess. What matters is that you’re here now and you won’t be in an hour from now and I wanted you to know how I felt and how I will still feel when the year ends and when it begins again.”

“And if I can’t say it back?” Louis asks. “How will you be then?”

“Then nothing will change. I’ll be exactly as I was yesterday and the day before that- in love with you.”

Even in his head, he’s too afraid to think of the words. Harry might be here _now_ but he doesn’t know if he can say that three months from now. During the past three months, he’s made a home out of Harry and that’s the most dangerous thing that can happen between two people, Louis thinks. He wants to say how he feels about Harry but he won’t because he knows how much damage it could cause and he won’t do that to Harry, won’t make him realize how easily words can undo people.

It’s only been three months and it’s been _waking up next to you_ and _kissing in the snow_ and _your arms around my waist_. He thinks all of these things are what falling love would look like if it had a physical appearance. He thinks that he may not be able to say it out loud, but he’s _shown_ it and that has to be enough for right now.

Louis stands on his toes and kisses him, hoping it translate what he feels. He pulls away after only a moment and balances back down on his feet. “I’ll come home in a couple of days.”

Once he sees Harry nod, he presses a chaste kiss to his lips once more and turns around quickly, getting into his car and driving off without another glance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I finished this chapter a couple of days ago, but I wanted to wait until AO3 fixed their bookmark/ filter problem for some reason, even though it probably wouldn't affect my story.
> 
> Anyway, I don't like this chapter because the longer the chapter is, the more I don't like it and considering this is nearly 15k, it shows that I'm not very happy with it.
> 
> By the way, I skipped Harry's birthday because I don't like writing any holidays, which is one of the reasons why I didn't make a big deal out of Louis' birthday (besides character features, of course) and I didn't write about Halloween and why the Christmas scene sucks so badly. I'm just so so so sorry.
> 
> Only one more chapter left, I hope you guys like it!! :)

When Louis was a kid, Christmas was standing on his toes to hang up ornaments high on the tree. It was tip-toeing around the house to look around for the presents his mum hid. It was making snow angels with his sisters and trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. It was waking up to his sisters jumping on him and shaking him awake. Christmas was baking cookies for Santa and getting excited when he saw only crumbs were left the next morning.

When Louis was a teenager, Christmas was trying to save up enough money to buy his mum and sisters a perfect gift. It was lying in bed watching movies with his sisters while drinking eggnog. It was watching his sisters bake cookies because he stopped believing in Santa. Christmas was playing snowball fights with his friends and watching his sisters chase each other around the house.

Now, Louis is an adult and he hasn’t had a proper Christmas with them. He’s snoozing on the couch when he hears his sisters’ footsteps padding against the floor and their excited, hushed voices. He can hear pots banging against each other and something sizzling on the stove, so he pushes himself up and groans at the ache in his back.

Fizzy turns to see Louis wake up and grins. “Merry Christmas, Lou!”

He walks to the kitchen where they’re all seated for breakfast and makes his way around them to press a kiss to the tops of each of their heads. “Merry Christmas, girls.”

Louis walks over to where his mum is standing by the stove and kisses her cheek. “Do you need any help?”

“I’ve just finished the pancakes and scrambled eggs, can you just bring the plate of bacon to the table and pour everyone a cup of tea?” His mum asks, flipping the last of the pancakes.

Christmas morning is his sisters bickering about who gets the last of what until his mum finally tells them that they’re old enough to get up and make their own if they want it so badly. It’s cup after cup of tea with his mum’s head on his shoulder while they watch shitty reality shows. It’s replying to text messages and not calling Harry to wish him a happy Christmas because he doesn’t have a fucking mobile.

“Can we open presents now, mum?” Phoebe asks once they finished watching Home Alone.

“Yeah, I want to see what Louis got us,” Fizzy smiles smugly at him and he rolls his eyes.

“Go ahead at it,” he nods his head over to where the presents are lying underneath the tree.  It’s his turn to take out his phone and takes pictures of them tearing apart the wrapping paper as if their life depended on it. His mum is laughing softly beside him on the couch, watching them trying to rip the tape off the boxes with their fingernails and complaining at Louis’ poor wrapping skills.

“Louis,” Fizzy begins, slowly taking her present out of the box and holding up a pair of keys. “What on earth is this?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I _believe_ those are a pair of car keys and it’s extremely concerning that you don’t know that.”

His mum whips her head to face him, her mouth dropped open to mirror Fizzy’s expression. “Excuse me?”

Before he could answer, Fizzy has him thrown back against the couch with her arms locked tightly around his neck. She squeezes him tightly, muttering _I love you_ into his ear and presses her lips to his cheek before pulling away, her smile so big that it _has_ to hurt.

“Is this some kind of joke, Louis Tomlinson?” His mum asks.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I mean, Lottie told me that she and Fiz are sharing her car, so I just bought her one. It’s nothing flashy, so don’t give me that look. It’s even used if that makes it any better. I’ll have a guy drive it down before their winter hols ends so she can use it for school.”

His sisters are talking excitedly about their presents, Phoebe and Daisy marveling in their new phones and Lottie talking to Fizzy about how she plans to decorate her room now that Louis gave her a giftcard to Ikea once she’s ready to move out.

His mum is staring in disbelief at him and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. “Lou, you didn’t have to do that. I was saving up for her car. Phoebe and Daisy’s mobiles were good enough for them, they didn’t need new ones.”

“It’s not a big deal, mum. Now you can use that money for Phoebe’s or Daisy’s car and even then, I can help you out. I know a car is extreme, but it’s probably the same condition as Lottie’s so she can’t really get jealous. It was a couple thousand pounds, not a Ferrari.”

She just shakes her head and laughs. “You are unbelievable.”

He bites back from saying _wait until you open your gift_ , which is a receipt for a couch he bought her since the one they’re sitting on is shitty and has holes in them where the cotton is coming out. She slaps him playfully on the shoulder before hugging him tightly.

Christmas night is all of them pulling their blankets and pillows into the living room, where they lie on the floor and listen to the Christmas music playing on the radio while munching on cookies. It’s all of them saying how much they missed Louis and that they’re glad he came to spend Christmas with them this year. It’s Lottie and Daisy on either side of him while he falls asleep, the fire crackling and burning at the end of his feet and keeping them all warm.

\--

Louis really tries to stay until the rest of the month, but on the last day of December, he caves in and decides that he’s going to go home. He tells himself that he wants to see his friends and that it has absolutely nothing at all to do with Harry.

But he _does_ want to surprise Harry, so he stays until dinner and he plans to leave at nine. He’ll be back in London around eleven and then he’ll get to spend New Years with Harry. And his other mates, too. But mostly Harry.

“Christmas is for family and New Years is for getting pissed with your friends,” he explains to his mum, who rolls her eyes.

“It’s true,” Lottie mentions.

His mum shoots her a glare. “And what exactly do you have planned for tonight?”

“Not getting _drunk_ , if that’s what you’re insinuating,” She mutters under her breath.

“She’s old enough, mum,” Louis replies. He stands up and brings his dish to the sink. He leans against the tile counter and shoots Lottie a wink, who smiles at him and gives him a discreet thumbs up.

When it’s time to leave, he hugs each of his sisters tightly and tells them that he’ll visit more often. None of them tear up and he’s thankful for that because if they were, then he would be bawling pathetically.

His mum hugs him and mutters, “What boy are you going home early to?”

His body goes rigid against hers and he pulls away, attempting to muster a confused expression as best as he can. “What?”

“I know when you’re lying, love.”

“I’m going home to see my mates, so they technically count as boys I’m going home to see.”

“I’m not daft, I hope you know,” She replies.

“If I don’t leave now, then I’ll be late,” Louis complains. “This will be an excuse to call you and tell you about it, alright?”

“You better!” She exclaims as he picks up his bag and kisses her cheek again.

Louis wishes it were raining instead of snowing because there’s only so much Christmas music he could listen to before he begins to get annoyed. The rain hitting against his car is soothing to him and helps him to just concentrate on driving, but with the snow falling quietly and the music beginning to irritate him, Louis begins to get anxious about seeing Harry. He’s spent the last few days trying to concentrate on spending time with his family, but at night he finds that he prefers Harry’s arms to the burning fire. He doesn’t know if he’s expecting Louis to say anything to him and he’s afraid that if he doesn’t say it soon, then Harry will stop feeling how he does. He’s terrified that if they keep their whole situation blurred, then Harry will get tired and find something clear and defined.

He knows all of this, but he can’t bring it to himself to tell Harry how he feels. Someone can handle Louis and his job for so long before they get tired of empty beds and take-out food for dinners. It’s how all of his past relationships ended and he doesn’t really see how this one is any different. He thinks that maybe he should just end it now so Harry won’t be waiting on him, but he doesn’t have the heart to do that because he’s too selfish.

Louis bites his lip because he can feel it quivering and just concentrates on driving, despite the fact that there’s no rain to help him drown out his thoughts. He doesn’t even stop by his house to unpack; he just drives straight to Harry’s flat. Louis didn’t think this through and he’s not even sure if Harry’s at home or if he’s at some New Year’s party. The familiarity of London welcomes him back with drunk people falling down on the sidewalks, fluorescent lights strung from building to building, and the snow falling down harder than it was in Doncaster. He pulls up to the old brick flat complex, the flickering lights greeting him when he makes usual way up the old wooden stairs.

When he knocks on the door that’s chipping paint, he’s nervous because Harry might not even be home but then the door swings open and there’s Harry and well. His hair is pulled back by one of his scarves and he has on new sweatpants along with a sweatshirt that Louis assumes he got for Christmas. Louis breaks out in a wide grin that mirrors Harry’s face-splitting smile. He’s suddenly engulfed in Harry’s arms and Louis laughs into the warmth of his neck and thinks _home home home I’m home_. Harry releases his hold on him only to take his hand and drag him into the flat. He cups Louis’ face in his palms and kisses him softly but eagerly, as if he’s been waiting to do this since Louis left.

And Louis wanted to be the one to tell Harry this through a kiss. He wanted to tell Harry that he’s never missed anyone as much as him while he’s away and that it scares him. With his fingertips on Harry’s neck, he hopes that Harry can tell how he hasn’t slept well since he left because he missed the comfort of Harry’s arms and his lumpy mattress and all that it has to offer.

Their kiss starts to become lazy, just a slow drag of their mouths and Harry smiles against his lips, finally pulling away.

“Howdy.”

Louis laughs, his head falling back with his eyes shut. He pecks Harry on the lips once more before extracting himself and walking to the Harry’s room with Harry closely behind. Harry lies down and pulls Louis against him so his back is to Harry’s chest.

“When did you get back?” Harry mumbles.

“I came straight here,” Louis replies.

Harry doesn’t ask why he came back early and Louis doesn’t ask why he isn’t at some party. Harry just tightens his arms around Louis and settles back comfortably on the couch. Louis wants to ask where Niall is but he finds that he doesn’t care as long as they’re alone and the silence that surrounds them confirms that.

Louis checks his phone and rolls over. “One minute till midnight.”

Harry laughs softly and Louis thinks that it sounds like _Christmas_ and _promises_ and _home_. “Okay.”

“Are you going to kiss me?” Louis presses.

Harry glances over his shoulder and turns back to Louis. “I mean, it’s a stiff competition. Loads of people coming to try and kiss you, but I’ve kept you prisoner here long enough so people know not to even _try_ to beat me. I am a dragon after all.”

“It’s just you and me?”

“You and me.”

Their whole fairy tale story is ridiculous and Louis can’t help but laugh when Harry pulls him in for a kiss. He doesn’t even know if it’s midnight yet, but it’s one minute past when he checks the clock. Louis doesn’t know if he ended his year with Harry’s lips against his, but that’s how he started it and that’s enough.

\--

When Louis and Niall exchanged keys to each other’s flats, he assumed it was so Niall has a place to practice his guitar or sleep in peace. Niall rubbed it in Harry’s face that he got the keys to his flat first and Harry didn’t care as long as Louis continued to stay over at their flat.

The point is: he didn’t exactly think it through. He didn’t think about what it would mean when it came to him and Harry and he definitely didn’t think it through long enough to consider how fucking messy Niall is.

“ _Niall_ ,” Louis hisses into his phone, staring at the food crumbs all over his floors, the pillows lying over his living room floor, and his paintings that are now crooked, “I know you’re avoiding me because you know _damn well_ how much hell I’m going to give you when I get into direct contact with you. It’s either you come back to my flat and clean up this shit or I will smash your guitar and use the wood in my fire while I drink wine.”

He hangs up his phone and collapses into a chair. Louis woke up to Harry’s body crushing him as opposed to the gloomy sky peaking in through the windows because Harry put up the curtains that Louis bought him for Christmas and left despite Harry’s protests because even though it’s only two weeks into January, work is coming back into full swing now that the holidays have ended.

The only thing that makes the drive to work better is that it’s raining. He concentrates on the sound of the rain while he’s calling back clients, working out details with interior designers, and finding flats to fulfill each of his client’s needs. Anna brings him coffee because she knows just how stressed Louis is whenever the new year comes around. However, she cuts him off once he starts getting cranky.

“Okay,” Anna sighs, “that’s _enough_ for today.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, just let me find one last flat so I show it to Mrs. Smith tomorrow.”

“Louis, you’ve been working all day and you haven’t eaten a thing,” Anna argues. “I called Zayn and you’re having dinner with him and Perrie tonight.”

“Did you just _schedule_ a dinner with my best mate?” Louis asks incredulously.

Anna folds her arms across her chest, a proud expression on her face. “Yes I did. Harry’s coming too, if you didn’t know already. He and Perrie are already cooking, so by the time you get there, it should be done.”

Louis finally relents, sighing and standing up while straightening out his papers. “It’s really concerning that you’ve meddled into my personal life.”

“It’s concerning that it’s come to this point,” Anna replies.

“I appreciate your concern and now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have dinner that you ever so kindly _planned_ ,” Louis emphasizes. Anna sticks her tongue out at him and retreats back to the main office. He waves her goodbye when he leaves the building and texts Zayn a mouthful of how rude it is that he’s planning dinners with his assistant without his knowledge.

He knocks on Zayn’s door with a little more force than necessary and when the door opens, his senses are filled with a mix of spices and seasonings.

“Is the Food Network filming here or something?” Louis asks as he steps in, shrugging off his coat. Perrie’s pulling out a tray of biscuits out of the oven as Harry mixes something in a pot at the stove. She beams when she sees him, walking over and kissing his cheek.

“This dinner is a month overdue!” She exclaims as she returns to the kitchen. Harry just grins at him and slowly licks off spaghetti sauce from his thumb. Louis doesn’t like anyone in this room at the moment and just glares at him.

“Sorry,” Louis mutters, not feeling particularly apologetic in the least. “What’s for dinner? Do you guys need help?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around so he pushes it up back up. “Oh no, you’re not allowed anywhere near the kitchen.”

Louis walks up to the counter, sitting across from Harry and watching him sprinkle in some sort of spice. “I’m not _that_ horrible in the kitchen.”

Harry angles his upper body to the side so he can lean forward without burning himself to kiss the pout off of Louis’ lips. “You kind of are, babe.”

Perrie suddenly squeals, causing Harry to pull back and have the both of them stare at her as if she’s gone mad. “You guys are so cute.”

“Louis, I’m gonna smoke a joint,” Zayn says. “Wanna join?”

Louis glances at Harry who just nods, too busy mixing something in a bowl. He hops off the chair and follows Zayn into his room. They both sit on the floor and Louis waits patiently as Zayn breaks the bud and rolls it up.

“How’ve you been, mate?” Zayn asks, bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. He holds it in while passing it over to Louis and finally exhales it.

Louis holds it between his two fingers and inhales, the familiar burn of it in his throat. He blows it out before answering Zayn. “Good, just back to work. Nothing special except for Niall being a complete shit and fucking around in my flat.”

“Why’s he in your flat?” Zayn says, slumping back against his bed. He closes his eyes and takes another hit, coughing briefly afterwards but taking another hit anyways.

“I gave him the key,” Louis answers.

Zayn turns his head, confused. “Are you dating Niall or something?”

“No,” Louis rolls his eyes before inhaling and turning his head to exhale it, “I’ve been spending a lot of time at theirs and I felt bad so I gave Niall a key so he can be alone whenever he wants.”

“So what you’re saying is that you and Harry basically live together while Niall lives at your place?” Zayn asks.

They hear a clanging sound outside and Perrie screaming while Harry mutters something indistinctly. Louis and Zayn wait for it to quiet down before talking again.

“No, I still go home considering my clothes and stuff are all there,” Louis replies. “I don’t like staying there too often cause I’m eating their food and they don’t have enough to even share between the two of them.”

“Have you guys… established what you guys are?” Zayn asks slowly, as if testing the waters with Louis.

“No, I mean, we’re good right now so why mess it all up, you know?”

Zayn just shrugs his scrawny shoulders and finishes the joint, sitting up straighter. “I mean, aren’t you confused about what you guys are?”

“Kinda, but it’s still casual. We still aren’t in a proper relationship or anything.”

Zayn scoffs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Lou. Let’s go, I’m fucking starving.”

When they walk back to the kitchen, Perrie and Harry are setting the table. Louis picks up a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy and when Harry passes him, he squeezes his hip. Once they finally have the table set, Louis and Harry sit next to each other and they start grabbing food.

“You guys made enough food to last the rest of the month,” Zayn comments.

“I figured Harry could take home leftovers for him and Niall,” Perrie shrugs. “Liam could probably use some, too.”

“Speaking of Niall,” Louis begins, nudging Harry’s foot under the table, “have you seen that bastard?”

Harry smiles around his fork, pulling it out and chewing before he answers. “He stopped by after you left for work and left to go to Ed’s. I haven’t seen him since, why?”

Louis ignores it when Harry says _he stopped by_ because it’s _Niall’s_ flat and by saying that, he makes it seem as if he doesn’t live there anymore. “He messed up my flat. It looks like he invited uni kids and had a fucking party there or something.”

“He did,” Perrie says.

Louis and Harry turn to face Perrie while Zayn ducks his head and concentrates on twirling the spaghetti around his fork.

“Do you guys know something?” Louis asks slowly.

“Niall sort of had a party there last night,” Zayn grumbles. “I thought he was going to clean up afterwards, if I knew he didn’t then I would have stayed back and cleaned it up myself, Lou.”

Louis throws his hands up dramatically. “You guys didn’t think to mention this to me?”

Zayn and Perrie shrug simultaneously. They pick at their food, not really caring about the situation at hand and Harry laughs beside him. Louis looks back and forth between his three so-called friends.

Harry finally turns to him, trying to contain his smile but failing miserably. “What? Are you really that bothered by it?”

“Bothered by the fact that my friends held a party in my flat _without my knowledge_? Yes, I am actually,” Louis explains.

“You barely spend time there,” Harry replies. “And I know Niall, he’ll clean it up. He just has to spend the day away from the flat he spent all night partying in and then he’ll clean it when he gets back.”

“Oh so have you moved in, Lou?” Perrie asks.

Louis stops in the middle of taking a bite of his spaghetti, the fork just an inch away from going into his open mouth when he glares at her. Zayn notices and elbows her in the rib, causing her to scream out in exaggerated pain.

“He might as well, he only goes home to get clean clothes and even then, his clothes are piling up at my flat,” Harry says.

“Are you suggesting that I move in?” Louis replies.

Harry nods, eating a spoonful of mash. “Why not?”

Louis just stares blankly at the side of his face until Harry finally turns to face him. “It’s only been four months.”

Zayn coughs in front of him and kicks Louis in the shin.

“Can we _stop_ hurting each other for five fucking seconds?” Louis hisses, rubbing his leg.

Zayn just shrugs unapologetically at him. “Do you remember that conversation we had at the pub? The one about time and how it doesn’t matter?”

Louis wants to drop his face in his spaghetti because Harry is right _fucking_ next to him and he’s not exactly daft, so he can probably understand what Zayn is getting at. He just rubs his temple instead and sighs. First Niall messes up his flat, then Anna actually _schedules_ a dinner with Zayn and now they’re talking about moving in together. He doesn’t even want to have this conversation in the first place so the fact that he’s having it with his two idiotic friends who are egging Harry on is something Louis doesn’t really appreciate. He’s beginning to think none of his friends know the definition of _casual_ if they keep suggesting Louis and Harry move in together. He downs the rest of his wine and tries not to flip the table over.

“It’s just too soon for me,” Louis mutters. He reaches down and squeezes Harry’s thigh. “It’s a big step and with work, it’s just not the right time.”

Harry just smiles and leans over to press his lips to his temple. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m not in a rush or anything.”

Harry’s words almost suggest as if he doesn’t mind waiting around for Louis and that fucking hurts because he has such faith that they’ll actually be together in the long run when Louis can’t even bring himself to say three simple words. He can’t even establish what they _are_ , yet Harry is already bringing up moving in together. He doesn’t know when they were on such different pages and it scares him.

The rest of dinner goes by without any more insinuations of living together or their future in general. They talk about how Zayn’s artwork is appearing in a gallery in the middle of July, but Zayn says it’s not a big deal no matter what Perrie says. When they leave, Louis hugs them tightly and tells Zayn how proud he is of him.

The drive to Harry’s flat is quiet, except for Harry’s occasional comments about how sad he is that they took down the Christmas decorations, leaving the streets bare. Louis just nods absently and it’s the first time that he doesn’t like their silence.

He pulls up to Harry’s flat and when Harry sees that he doesn’t unbuckle his seatbelt, he looks curiously at him. “Are you coming in?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I think I’ll sleep at my flat tonight. I have to check if Niall cleaned up my flat after all.”

“Oh,” Harry says. His lips are in a tight line and he’s looking at Louis confused, but he just nods. “Okay, night then.”

He leans toward Louis, pulls back as if thinking twice but then leans forward to kiss him anyways. He pulls away quickly and stumbles out of the car, going into the building without looking back.

When he goes to his flat, it’s still the same as it was when Louis left it earlier. He makes his way around the spilled drinks and food, scrunching his nose in disgust. Louis crawls into bed that night but spends it tossing and turning because he can’t get comfortable. His bed is too soft and warm, but not the same warmth that he’s grown used to. There’s no leaking ceiling, there’s no soft breathing in his ear and there’s no finger to trace a name onto his forearm.

It’s been two hours and he still can’t fall asleep. He’s contemplating whether or not he should take a sleeping pill when he hears the door open. Louis instantly sits up and folds himself into a ball on his bed, staring at the door. He hears cabinets opening and closing along with footsteps. When nothing happens, he quietly slips out of bed and opens the door. He tip toes down the hallway and the bright lights in his living room causes him to blink his eyes so he can adjust.

“Louis?”

He rubs his eyes and they finally focus on Niall, who’s crouched down and sweeping up crumbs into a dustpan.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Louis asks.

“I can ask you the same thing,” Niall replies, standing up.

He looks around his flat and back at Niall. “I _do_ believe this is my flat we’re in.”

Niall leans back on the counter, dropping the dustpan on it and running his fingers through his hair and then down his face. His hand falls back down to his sides and Louis just watches him breathe for a moment. “The flat that you’ve barely been living in for the past two months?”

“As long as I pay the bills, then it’s my flat,” Louis argues.

Niall crosses one leg over the other and just stares tiredly at him. “Lou, it’s one in the damn morning. Can you just go back to my flat, go to bed with Harry like we both _know_ you want to and call it a night? I’m fucking exhausted.”

Louis scoffs. “From throwing a party in _my_ flat? Yeah, that can really drain the energy out of someone.”

“You don’t even _care_ that I threw a party,” Niall takes a rag, runs it under the water and begins to clean the counter. “You don’t even stay here, you can care less about the state it’s in. I could probably have punched a hole through the wall and you wouldn’t bat an eye because this is just a place where you go to grab your clothes and head off to your job that you don’t even fucking _like._ You’re just making an excuse to come to your flat so you don’t have to talk things through with Harry.”

It’s unfamiliar territory; fighting with Niall. Out of the group, he’s the one who’s the most laid back and not really giving two shits about what they’re going to do as long as it’s cheap. Now, Niall is scrubbing furiously at the table and even though his eyes are tired, they’re angry and frustrated.

“Even if that was true, which it’s _not_ , I wouldn’t have had to make up an excuse in the first place if you didn’t throw a party,” Louis says. “There isn’t even anything to talk about.”

“I threw a party for two reasons: one, because I haven’t thrown a party in fucking ages and two, because I wanted to see if my theory was right and see if you’d be blowing it out of proportion, which I am.”

“Oh, so I’m a science experiment? That’s brilliant, thanks.”

Niall walks away and returns with a vacuum. Louis’ surprised at how familiar he’s gotten with his flat, watching him plug it into an outlet and start vacuuming the crumbs.

“Well I wasn’t wrong, was I?” Niall asks, speaking over the noise. “And I know that you’re over exaggerating it because you’ll do anything to concentrate on anything _but_ what’s going on with you and Harry, even if it’s the tiniest thing.”

Louis stands there while Niall vacuums around him. He glances at Louis every now and then, but just continues to clean up, picking up cans and plates scattered across the floor.

Even if Niall was right, Louis didn’t do it on purpose. It’s frightening that Niall caught onto what he was supposedly doing even before Louis was aware of it and he wonders if it’s that obvious to everyone else or if Niall is just freakishly perceptive.

The thing is, it never should have gotten to this point where Louis made a home out of Harry. It shouldn’t have gotten to the point where he doesn’t even feel at home in his own flat anymore. Louis was supposed to keep it under control, keeping it casual until Harry got tired of him being so dedicated to his job. He’s so used to patterns and routines that when Harry came into the picture, he automatically assumed he would fall into the pattern of his past relationships. Now he feels as if everything has suddenly been sprung on him and he doesn’t know what to do with all of it.

Niall finally stops cleaning and stands across Louis, his eyes soft. “Harry tells me things, you know?”

“I don’t want to know,” Louis whispers. He grabs his keys off the counter and heads to his car. There’s no rain to help him drown out his thoughts, but all of his thoughts are just that he wants to go to bed with Harry.

When he opens the door, he pads over to Harry’s room and peers in. The curtains are drawn open, the moon peaking in so the sliver of light shines in. Harry’s back is to him with his blanket drawn close up to his neck with his feet poking out because it’s too short. Louis slips his shoes off and walks in, settling down behind Harry. He wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and it’s strange because the roles are switched, but Harry relaxes back into him and sighs contently.

Louis wants to say sorry for making him come home to an empty flat because he knows what that feels like. He wants to say sorry for not being able to say how he feels because he’s a coward. He wants to tell him that he thinks that he looks like four seasons wrapped up in one. He wants to tell him that he’s always minded the quiet up until he met Harry and that sitting in silence with him is something he loves the most. He wants to tell him how he feels but whenever he tries, he can’t speak because there aren’t words that are strong enough to express how he feels.

Louis wants to tell Harry that it’s two o’clock in the morning and that he loves him.

 _There_ , Louis thinks to himself. _I fucking said it_.

It’s a relief, more than anything. It’s done, it’s out there and now there’s no turning back. Louis can finally accept and acknowledge his feelings for Harry and he should be fucking glad, but he just feels afraid, which really makes no sense. He knows how Harry feels about him, but it’s really just a matter of its permanence. He doesn’t believe in the permanence of anything really because he knows that nothing really lasts forever. It’d be foolish of Louis to think Harry would be any different.

He _wants_ to say all of this, but instead he fits his cheek into the crook of Harry’s shoulder and tries to fall asleep.

\--

February is the one thing Louis hates right after autumn. It’s full of couples and kissing and PDA and really, it just grosses him the fuck out. It’s one thing to see it when he’s at a pub, but it’s another thing to see it when he’s working.

It’s two days until Valentine’s Day and Harry’s been insisting for the past week that they actually go out and do something for a change. Louis refused, but ended up giving in because _casual_ was thrown out the window a long time ago.

Having plans this Valentine’s for once doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to spend as much time as possible at work even if it makes him want to throw himself into a pit of fire because it’s the month of couples trying to find their dream home together and being extra _coupley_ about it. Louis complained about this to Harry one night and he just replied with, “Love is in the air, can you blame them?” Louis suggested buying a gas mask the next day and Harry just laughed.

“So, er, what do you guys think?” Louis mutters while his clients snog on the bed.

They pull apart, laughing and stand up with their fingers locked together. Jake pulls in Veronica closer to his side and kisses her temple while she tries to press in closer. Louis wants to gag.

“We _love_ it, Louis,” Veronica giggles while Jake’s finger sneak under her jumper. “We don’t know how you found it so quickly, I mean, _three_ days? You’re an absolute miracle worker.”

“I guess that’s why you’re one of the best real estate agents around, huh?” Jake asks. They don’t even give Louis time to respond. Jake picks up Veronica and spins around. “This is our new flat, babe!”

Louis wants to bring up the fact that there are other bidders for this flat, but they’re already back to snogging on the bed.

If Valentine’s Day had a face, Louis would punch it.

\--

“So what are you doing tonight?” Louis asks two days later while driving home from work.

“Probably shagging Perrie. Most likely,” Zayn replies, bored.

“You guys have no shame,” Louis sighs.

Louis woke up this morning freezing and wanting to hide himself in the loneliness of his flat, but Harry turned to him and kissed him, looking at him with such _fondness_ in his eyes that he nearly ran out of the flat to get to work. Now that he’s driving back to the flat, he needed something to occupy his thoughts so he called Zayn.

“Well you’re probably shagging Harry tonight,” Zayn sighs. Louis knows just how much Zayn hates talking on the phone, but he thinks since he picked up Louis’ phone call anyway, he’s pretty special.

“Maybe.”

“What the fuck do you mean _maybe_? It’s Valentine’s Day. Half of the world will probably be having sex tonight. A lot of babies will be created, it’s beautiful.”

“Would you shut the hell up?”

“ _You’re_ the one who called _me_!” Zayn shouts incredulously.

“Touché,” Louis replies. “I just needed someone to talk to while I drive home.”

He hears a door opening and then shutting followed by Perrie saying, “I’m home, pants off!”

“Gotta go,” Zayn says and the line clicks dead. He would normally call Liam, but he has a girl this year. So he contemplates calling Niall, but he probably brought home girls from a pub and _holy hell_ they’re probably shagging in his house and he’ll have to bleach every single space. He’ll probably have to burn the fucking sheets and get a new mattress while he’s at it.

Louis’ making a mental checklist for all the things he has to do when he dreadfully walks back into his flat, killing Niall at the top of it, when he pulls up to Harry’s flat. Louis wasn’t sure if he was supposed to get something, so he walks up sans gift. He hopes that Harry didn’t do anything festive or extravagant and if he did, he hopes that Harry has enough wine in order to knock Louis out.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when the flat looks normal aside from Harry bustling about in the kitchen. He looks up with wide eyes, mixing something furiously in his hands. Harry has one of Louis’ beanie, a burgundy sweater that must be new because Louis has never seen it before, and his torn ups jeans. The only real reason Louis likes Valentine’s at this point is because it’s the reason he now knows how fucking good Harry looks in burgundy.

“You’re home early!” Harry cries, setting the bowl down and taking a tray of cookies out of the oven.

“Yeah, no clients today considering they’re probably having wild animal sex,” Louis shrugs, taking off his coat and throwing it on the back of the couch. “Do you need some help?”

“Can you set the table?” Harry nods to a stack of paper plates, plastic forks and spoons, and napkins. Louis stops abruptly when he sees that they’re all pink and red, narrowing his eyes at them as if they’re a threat.

“Did you buy festive plates and napkins or are my eyes deceiving me?” Louis asks.

Harry looks up and follows Louis’ gaze. “Yeah, they were on sale and we needed some more anyway.”

“I’m quite sure _white_ would have been cheaper,” Louis says under his breath. Harry laughs, walking to him with a bowl in his hands and stops to kiss him.

“Your world is so _bleak_ ,” Harry says and sets the bowl on the table. They walk back and forth from the kitchen to the table- all of four steps- purposely bumping their hips against each other and nearly dropping the mac n’ cheese.

Louis looks at all of the food in front of him and doesn’t know how Harry afforded all of it because it can probably feed his entire family and then some.

“It feels like this should be in a Thanksgiving advert or something,” Louis replies as Harry places some alfredo on his plate.

“Our first proper Thanksgiving, then,” Harry says.

“We’re not even American,” Louis says. “They don’t even set up for Thanksgiving, did you know that? They skip it all together and put up Christmas instead. It’s probably just a reason to eat more than they usual.”

“And to give thanks, don’t forget that.”

“Thanksgiving is probably only important to, I don’t know, the Food Network.”

Harry laughs around a mouthful of mash. “Probably. I got all of this from _Giada At Home_.”

Louis stops eating because they sold the telly in December, which means Harry must have thought of making this meal months ahead of time and _also_ means that Harry believes they have some sort of future together. The thought scares Louis because he isn’t thinking about the future; he’s thinking about _now_ and right now, the future is scaring him more than ever.

“How’s Alfred?” Louis asks because he hasn’t seen him in over a month now and he misses him.

Harry shifts in his seat and eats a spoonful of corn before answering. “Good. Y’know, tired and stuff. Do you want to visit him? He misses you.”

“What, right now? I miss him, but I was planning on getting shagged tonight,” Louis says.

Harry grins. “Oh just you wait.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Louis whines.

“Let’s go visit Alfred and then we’ll have all the sex you want,” Harry rolls his eyes. Louis stands up and grabs his coat. He walks back over to Harry and sits down on his lap, pressing his lips to Harry’s.

“Thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to go all out, though. It must have cost you an entire paycheck,” Louis says.

“How do you know it was for _you?_ Maybe I did it out for my own enjoyment,” Harry asks.

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Louis points out.

Harry presses his lips together as if he’s trying to suppress his smile, but Louis can see it anyway. “I didn’t.”

Louis drives to the retirement home and it’s decorated with hearts everywhere. There are some people who are watching the telly, eating cookies, or falling asleep on the couch and it’s emptier than usual. Louis hopes that it’s because most of them are falling asleep next with their loved ones and when he looks over at Harry, he smiles.

They make their way to Alfred’s room and Harry doesn’t even knock, he just walks right in. Alfred’s paler than Louis remembers, his sunken brown eyes standing out against them. He has a pile of blankets on him and Harry adjusts them so they sit right under his chin.

“How’s your Valentine’s so far?” Louis asks, sitting down in his usual seat.

Alfred tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “Harry made cookies, that was probably the highlight of my day. How’s your family?”

It’s _odd_ because they’re having a casual conversation and this isn’t how it’s usually like. He’s so used to how Alfred talks to him; deep and meaningful, something that had a _point_. He can tell that Alfred is tired, but he’s trying to stay awake for them. His eyes droop occasionally and he has to jolt himself awake. Louis looks to Harry, silently asking him if they can go so Alfred can rest, but Harry shakes his head.

“Happy late birthday, by the way,” Alfred smiles softly. “You never told me it was your birthday the last time we spoke.”

“I don’t like bringing it up,” Louis shrugs. “I don’t like getting old.”

“Even you have to admit that I look pretty good for my old age,” Alfred laughs softly. “Love it or hate it, it’s inevitable.”

Louis just bites his lip and shrugs again, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

“I know you don’t like the future, Louis, but it isn’t as scary as you make it out to be,” Alfred says.

 _Yes it is_ , Louis wants to say. It _is_ scary because of its uncertainty. The future means walking blindly into the dark. The present is something that Louis can control, but he doesn’t know what the future has in store for him. He doesn’t know where he’ll be two years, five years, or ten years from now.

“I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen,” Louis replies.

“You wake up, you fall in love, you go back to sleep, and eventually you die. That’s what happens,” Alfred answers.

“Fall in love? With what?” Louis asks.

Alfred lifts his scrawny shoulders in a weak attempt of a shrug. “Anything. People think love is serious, but I don’t think it is. I mean, I may be wrong. Who am I to say that I know what love is? I _don’t_ , but I don’t believe it’s serious. Have fun with it. Love whatever you see. I’m in love my cup of tea in the morning and I’m in love with my blankets that are warming me up right now. I’m in love with the rain and I’m in love with your visits.”

Louis rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Isn’t the chance of you being heartbroken more likely then?”

“Of course,” Alfred nods. “I hate it when I finish my tea and when you guys leave, but things have to end sometime, right?”

“People come and go,” Harry adds. “You just have to let it.”

It’s all too pessimistic for Louis’ liking. He doesn’t like it when things leave. If he didn’t care about people going, then he wouldn’t be so scared of the future. The future scares him and when he looks at Harry and the possibility of him not being there, it scares him even more.

\--

“I’m sorry, you want me to _what_?”

“I want you to watch Squishy for the weekend.”

Louis takes a sip of his tea and leans back against the counter, contemplating. Harry’s at work and Louis is working from home, but once again, something had to intervene and interrupt his plans. Not like he’s complaining, he’ll do anything to not work these days, but taking care of a goldfish isn’t something he had in mind.

Niall isn’t even at his flat, he’s probably out busking or something, but Louis is surprised at how clean he’s kept the flat. Everything is in order and Niall somehow keeps the fridge somewhat stocked.

“Where are you even going?” Louis asks, adjusting his beanie.

Liam grabs an apple from the fridge and takes a large bite. “Down to Wolverhampton so Stacey can meet my parents.”

“So is it getting serious between you two?”

“I dunno,” Liam shrugs. “I really fancy her though. So will you watch him, _please_?”

Louis taps his chin playfully and sighs. “I _suppose_ I can.”

Liam breaks out in a wide grin and pats Louis on the back, but it’s so forceful that it causes Louis to nearly spill his tea. “Easy there. I don’t think you realize your own strength.”

“I’ll bring him over later today before I leave. He’s really easy; just feed him once a day, maybe one and a half if he’s being good. Change it up so he’s not bored. If you could sit in front of his bowl and just talk to him for a couple of minutes, that’d be great.”

Louis scoffs. “ _Easy_ you say.”

“It _is_. The only thing you have to do is not kill him and as long as you feed him, you’re okay. I already cleaned his fish tank this morning,” Liam explains.

“It’s a _goldfish_ , do you even realize how prone they are to dying? I’m surprised Squishy hasn’t gone yet,” Louis replies.

“Don’t jinx it!” Liam exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically. “Are you sure you can take care of him?”

Louis will be damned if he can’t take of a simple goldfish, so he stands up straight and pokes Liam in the chest.

“ _Yes_ I can take care of Squishy and he’ll love me so much that he won’t even want to leave,” Louis says.

“Are you _sure_? I was going to ask Niall or Zayn first but-“

“You mean, _I_ wasn’t your number one choice in goldfish babysitter?!” Louis shouts incredulously.  “I’m shocked. Dare I say, _offended_.”

Liam rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his apple. “Would you stop being so dramatic?”

Louis shrugs unapologetically. “It’s late and I’m bored.”

As if on cue, Niall walks in and drops his guitar at the door. With a mumbled _hey_ , he strolls past them and opens the fridge, pulling out a beer. Liam and Louis just stare at him drink half of it.

“Hey, what are you lads up to?” Niall asks.

“Louis is gonna take care of Squishy for me while I visit my parents with Stacey this weekend,” Liam informs.

Niall just raises his eyebrows doubtfully. “You really trust him with your precious goldfish?”

“Hey! I’m not going to kill him!”

Niall just shrugs and downs the rest of his beer. “Whatever you say.”

\--

“ _You’ve killed him!_ ”

Louis whips around from typing on his laptop and races to the fish tank that’s sitting on Harry’s counter. When he examines it and sees Squishy happily swimming about, he glares at Harry.

“What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!” Louis shouts. “Do you even know what Liam would do if I did kill him?”

“I just wanted to see your reaction,” Harry laughs. “It’s cute that you care so much about him.”

Louis glares at him. “It’s not, shut up.”

It’s Saturday night and Harry is convinced that Louis has already grown close to Squishy. When he came over, Louis was in the middle of searching new houses for him because he looked bored of his Spongebob one. Louis will deny it until the day he dies because he may be fond of the little guy, but he’s not fucking attached to it.

Harry walks over to him and hugs him from behind, pulling him back against his chest. “It _is_ , though. You should have seen how worried you were. Can you imagine if we get a cat or something?”

Louis’ body freezes at that. Harry’s been casually bringing up subjects of _we_ lately and Louis wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t insinuate some sort of future together. He tries to relax his body so Harry wouldn’t notice, untangling himself from Harry’s arms.

“The things pets do to you,” Louis laughs uneasily.

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” Harry asks, opening the fridge. “I can make us some tacos if you want. You keep buying things without me knowing, you sneaky bastard.”

“I actually have a bunch of work to get done,” Louis replies. Harry peers over his shoulder to look at him, shutting the fridge. “You can stay of course, I just have tons of clients to get back to.”

Harry frowns. “I think your clients will understand if you need to take some time off to _eat_.”

“Why don’t we just order take-out, then?” Louis suggests. He walks over to where he keeps the menus and skims them. “Chinese sound good to you?”

Harry shakes his head, the frown still on his face. Louis wants to smooth out the furrow in his eyebrows because he can tell he isn’t happy. “C’mon, Lou, aren’t you sick of take-out? I can make something really quick and it’ll take as much time as it’ll take for them to deliver the food so it won’t make a difference.”

“What if I want Chinese?”

“Then I’ll make a stir fry or chow mein.”

Louis wants to fall into his bed and wrap himself up in blankets because he is too fucking _nice_. He’s making it really difficult for Louis to keep his feelings at bay. He’s been staying at his own flat for the past week, much to Niall’s dismay, with an excuse of trying to get work done without any distractions, but he can tell that Harry has caught on. The thing is, that doesn’t change anything for Harry. He’s still been as sweet as ever, still traces his name on Louis’ back and it makes Louis want to punch a hole through his wall.

“Make whatever you want, I have to do some work.”

Louis begins to walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, but Harry runs over and stops in front of him.

“How about you stay and help me?” Harry asks.

Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You barely let me in the kitchen.”

“Okay, well, I think I need help cutting some vegetables,” Harry states.

“Last time I asked to do that and you said having a knife in my hand should be illegal,” Louis points out.

Harry smiles. “I’ll give you a butter knife.”

“Well that’s just being inefficient,” Louis says.

“Just _stay_ ,” Harry pleads. “Work can wait for half an hour, yeah?”

Louis wants to give in and just fuck around in the kitchen for awhile, but he hasn’t gotten any work done since he played FIFA with Niall yesterday. He leans forward and kisses him, slipping his tongue in for a moment before pulling back.

“You can blame Niall, okay?” Louis whispers against his lips.

“Fucking Niall,” Harry grumbles, catching his lips once more.

He told himself that he wasn’t going to let anything distract him, but he can’t think of anything besides Harry’s lips on his and his cold fingertips sneaking under his sweater. Louis tries to pull away, but Harry presses on the small of his back and leans forward to keep him where he is.

His clients probably won’t be happy that he’s not replying back to their emails, but with the way Harry’s sighing his name into his mouth and how he’s palming his cock through his jeans, he can’t really think to care.

When they’re lying on Louis’ bed, out of breath and sweating, he thinks that his clients are going to be upset with him, but it was worth it.

The next morning, Louis wakes up before Harry, who’s snoozing peacefully next to him. He leans in to kiss him, but pulls back at the last second, stumbling out of bed and picking up his sweatshirt off the ground. He grabs a piece of paper and scrawls his excuse of leaving, setting it on the pillow. He slips on his shoes and grabs Squishy, shutting the door behind him softly. He buckles Squishy’s tank in his car and starts to drive to his flat.

Louis doesn’t know what to do because he feels _suffocated_. Harry’s always around him, even if he’s not physically there. When Louis’ mind wanders off, it always goes to Harry and it’s driving him fucking mental. He wants some time away, but even when he went to visit his family in December, that didn’t help at all. The only thing that really puts Louis at ease is when Harry has his arms around him, so distancing himself isn’t really an option.

He’s absolutely lost, so when he gets home, he drowns himself in his work so he can push Harry out of his head. Louis finds that it’s the only thing that works so he’ll settle for that for now.

\--

March welcomes Louis with been clients in and out of his office for the entire day and he’s just _exhausted_. It’s raining and normally, Louis would be happy because he wouldn’t feel so alone during his breaks, but when he looks outside, he just feels morose and glum.

He’s been trying his best not to lose his patience with his clients during their consultations, but with each client, he can feel himself losing it. All he asks for is an hour break so he can sleep or smoke a blunt or _something_. His mind can only deal with houses for so long before he gets tired and want to bang his head against his desk.

Anna knocks on his door and peaks her head inside. “Mr. Walsh is going to see you in ten minutes.”

Louis groans and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “This is the eleventh client I’ve seen today. If I see one more, I’m going to avoid my entire clientele like the plague for the rest of my existence.”

“You only have three more clients and then the consultations are done for the day,” Anna murmurs sympathetically.

“Do you still have the emergency vodka? If so, now is the time to bust it out.”

Anna nods firmly and leaves, returning shortly with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka in hand. She places them on his desk and pours each of them a shot, handing one of them to Louis.

“May you still be alive at the end of the day,” Anna says. Louis smiles and nods, clinking his glass against hers. They tip their heads back and bring the glass to their lips, letting it burn their throat. Louis reaches for the bottle to pour himself another one, but Anna snatches it before he could reach it.

“ _No_. We’re working, not at a pub,” Anna shakes her head.

Louis pouts. “One more? Mr. Walsh will be here in a couple of minutes and if you value my life, then you will take one with me.”

Anna places her hands on her hips and shakes her head at him. “You’re a horrible influence.”

Louis grins and reaches for the bottle, pouring them a shot again. He doesn’t even wait for Anna, he just tips his head back and downs it again, letting the alcohol spread through his system.

He claps his hands together and straightens out his tie. “Alright, now if you’ll excuse me I have some clients to see. Please send in Mr. Walsh whenever he’s ready.”

Grabbing the bottle and shot glasses, Anna rolls her eyes. “You’re so lame.”

He sticks his tongue out at her, but she already has her back towards him. Louis shoots Zayn a text, asking him if he wants to go to a pub after work because he really needs it. He waits around for Zayn’s answer, but Mr. Walsh comes in before he replies.

“Mr. Walsh, it’s nice to meet you,” Louis stands up to shake his hand. His coat is dripping from the rain and he shrugs it off, placing it on the back of his chair.

“You’re hard to get an appointment with,” Mr. Walsh laughs as he sits down. “You’ve been busy?”

“I’m always busy, but it doesn’t affect my work ethics,” Louis replies. “Now, what are you looking for?”

“1600 square feet, at least. I need it to be move-in ready so if there’s anything that needs to be done, even the most _minuscule_ thing, then move onto the next one because I won’t even consider it,” Mr. Walsh begins.

Louis begins to write everything down, nodding along with every word. He can already tell that even though Mr. Walsh is a nice guy, he’s going to be a stubborn client. He tries to talk Mr. Walsh out of things because some of what he’s asking for is nearly impossible, but he insists that he trusts Louis.

“Finding a flat in the heart of London for less than a million pounds isn’t likely,” Louis shakes his head. “Not even 1.5 million pounds.”

Mr. Walsh is about to argue when they hear a commotion outside.

“ _Stop!_ ” Anna shouts, her heels clacking against the floor. “ _He’s in a meeting, you can’t-_ “

The door flies open and Harry’s standing there, his clothes and hair soaking wet. It’s dripping onto the floor and his boots squeak against the tiles as he slowly walks into the office. Louis’ mouth is dropped open as his eyes follow Harry’s every move as if he’s going to point a gun at them. Harry’s eyes are red and Louis hopes that it’s only the rain that is trailing down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Louis,” Anna says, out of breath. “I tried to stop him.”

Mr. Walsh stands up, looking at Harry up and down. If Louis didn’t know him, then he’d think Harry was a crazy homeless person bursting in one of the most prestigious real estate offices there is, dripping and trying to catch his breath.

“Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Walsh asks.

Louis swallows and stands up slowly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Walsh, but is it possible to reschedule?”

Anna looks at him in disbelief, but he just throws her a look that says _I’ll explain later_. She inhales slowly and nods, putting on an award-winning smile and stepping up to Mr. Walsh.

“Can I make you a cup of tea before you head out the rain? We can arrange another consultation meeting while we wait for the water to boil. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, this _never_ happens at the office,” Anna says. She puts her hand on his back, guiding him out and throwing Louis a glare over her shoulder.

Once the door shuts, Harry lets out a choked sob. Louis rushes over and wipes away his tears, moving his hair out of his face.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks. He pushes Harry softly so he can sit on his desk. Once he does, Louis stands between his legs and removes Harry’s jacket, throwing his own over his shoulders.

Harry’s whole body is shaking and he leans forward so he can rest his head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. He doesn’t know what could have possibly happened that’s making Harry cry so _hard_. Louis whispers _it’s going to be okay_ and _I’m here_ in his ear, trying to soothe him as much as possible.

Harry finally straightens up, wiping his face with the sleeves of Louis’ coat. He instantly leans forward to quickly press his lips against Harry’s because he just looks so _hurt_ that Louis makes him sick and he doesn’t even have a fucking clue as to what’s going on.

“Alfred’s gone,” Harry whispers so quietly that even with their proximity, Louis barely caught it. "In his sleep."

He stands back and looks at Harry with wide eyes because he must have misheard him. They saw him two weeks ago, they spent the entire night with him. They were laughing and Louis kissed his cheek goodnight with a promise of coming back just _two weeks ago_.

Louis feels his mouth moving, attempting to find words to try to make sense of this. Harry clasps his hands tightly, trying to pull him in but Louis doesn’t move. There are tears brimming in his eyes, so he looks away and bites his lip.

“I told him,” Louis stutters, his voice choking at the end. “I told him I’d come back.”

Harry purses his lips and more tears are rolling down his cheeks. “He knows how much he meant to you.”

Louis blinks and he can feel the tears finally surrendering, falling down his cheeks. “But I,” he takes a deep breath to steady his voice, “I didn’t come back. He was so tired that night, but he forced himself awake so he could talk to us. I’ve been so busy, I didn’t think-“

“Hey,” Harry says softly, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across Louis’ hand. He’s stopped crying, but his eyes are still red. He gives Louis a weak smile. “It’s okay. People come and go, right?”

His mind goes back to the last conversation they had together. _Things have to end some time._ Louis wants to shake Alfred because _this_ wasn’t something that was supposed to end. He wanted to take Alfred out when it was summer so he could feel the warmth of the sun instead of the warmth from his blankets. He planned on taking Alfred out to the main room where he’d beat Mrs. Shaw at checkers and claim victorious, all with Alfred and Harry by his side.

He planned for a lot of things, but _this_ was not one of them. He wants to be angry at Alfred for not reaching out for Louis and he wants to be angry at Harry for not telling him that his time was almost up. He’s _not_ , though. Louis just feels hurt more than anything.

People come and go and Louis fucking hates it.

\--

The sun is trying to fight away the clouds, the rays peaking them. It’s not a lot, but Louis will take what he can get.

It’s been a rough three weeks, Louis and Harry both taking days off of work so they can just lie in bed together, listening to the leaking ceiling and the sound of their solitude. Louis once asked Harry if he was okay and he just nodded, saying he was hurt but he was glad he has Louis, making it more bearable.

Harry takes off a full two weeks of work, but Louis can’t afford to miss more than four days, even that threw his entire schedule off. Harry insists that he’s fine, but Louis isn’t convinced because the past three weeks has been Harry spacing out, staying in bed for the entire day and even eating Louis’ cooking. When Harry slipped into Louis one night, he fucked him rougher than usual.

Louis wakes up one morning to find the bed empty. He frowns, reaching out blindly for his glasses. Once his hand touches it, he puts them on and walks down the hallway. He finds Harry lying on the couch with his iPod plugged into his speakers. He doesn’t know what song is playing; one of his hipster-indie bands, but it’s not sullen so he’s happy about that. Louis walks over and bends over the back of the couch, kissing him. Harry smiles and leans forward to kiss him again before pulling apart and falling back against the pillow.

Louis walks into the kitchen to find some breakfast before he goes to work. When he opens the fridge, he finds it nearly empty with the exception of a banana and a half empty bottle of beer.

“Harry, what the hell? You have no food. _Again_.”

Harry gets up from the couch to join Louis in the kitchen and inspects the empty fridge himself.

“Oh, well, I think we have some granola bars somewhere…”

Harry goes to open the cabinets, but they only have mugs and a container for all the tea packets.

“Hmm, I guess Niall ate the last of them,” Harry shrugs. “We can split the bana-“

“ _Harry_ , you have no fucking food!” Louis exclaims. Harry’s eyes widen at his outburst and then his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion at where exactly Louis is going. Louis actually doesn’t even know what to say after, so he takes a deep breath and exhales. “Your kitchen is _empty_. What are you supposed to eat?”

“S’ nothing new. I’m going to work tomorrow, so I can just pick up some yogurt or something.”

“That’s not the point!”

“What are you on about, Lou?” Harry asks curiously and Louis’ getting angry because Harry just doesn’t _get_ it.

“Harry, you have no food. You sleep on the mattress that has no bed sheets or a suitable blanket on the fucking floor. You have three shirts and two trousers. You take a shower once in a blue moon just so you can save money on your water bill. Your only pair of shoes practically lost its purpose because they’re so torn up. Just… _please_ try to find some other job. A job that pays you well enough to have at least some food on the table.”

Louis’ heart is beating fast because he’s finally let out what he’s wanted to say ever since he stepped into the flat. He looks at Harry and he looks _pissed_ , something that he’s never seen Harry like. He remembers their conversation, how Harry told him he doesn’t get angry, but the Harry standing in front of him looks furious.

“What sort of job do you want me to get? Try to become some big shot real estate agent?” Harry sneers. “I know this is different from you, okay Lou? But this is how it is for some people. You think I like not knowing if I can pay my half of the rent? I can’t just find another job. I dropped out of uni, what kind of decent paying job is going to hire me? And I don’t _want_ another job. I happen to like the retirement home; it’s filled with genuine people. You should try it some time.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always telling me how your job is just a bunch of pretentious, shallow, materialistic pricks and-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s part of the _job_! If I could have it any other way, I _would_. It’s London and if people want to spend millions of pounds on their homes, then so be it. I can’t change that,” Louis argues.

“You don’t even _like_ your job.”

Louis purses his lips because he doesn’t want to yell anymore. It’s the first time he’s yelled at Harry and he just wanted to tell Harry how concerned he is about him, he didn’t want it to end up like _this_.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Harry presses. “You wake up and go to work miserable and you come home even more miserable, even if you sold a hundred homes because when it comes down to it, you’re drained and exhausted from surrounding yourself around people you don’t like. Maybe you’re the one who should find a new job, Lou.”

“No!” Louis shouts. “Are you even _listening_ to yourself? Yeah, the people I work with are self-centered and superficial, but they’re good people. We all work hard for our money, just because we’re doing well doesn’t automatically mean we’re arseholes.”

He’s _fuming_ and he’s never been so upset, the last person he thought it’d be at was Harry. It’s not fair; Harry hasn’t had a real job. If he did, then he’d understand that every job has its pros and cons, but he doesn’t. Louis thought that it was one of the things he liked most about Harry, but now he doesn’t know.

 “I have to get to work,” Louis mutters under his breath.

Harry immediately softens when he hears this. “Don’t go. Stay here,” Harry says. “Let’s go do something, okay? Let’s go learn to speak Japanese or go back to bed or learn to play the guitar. We’ll do something, _anything_. Just please, _please_ don’t go back to work.”

Louis feels tears welling up on his eyes and because _fuck_. What kind of fantasy is Harry living in? Has he been a part of this fantasy the entire time he’s known Harry? If so, then it was nice while it lasted because he can’t do this.

He takes a deep, shaky breath and bites the inside of his cheek to prevent any tears from spilling over because once it starts, it won’t stop.

“I’m going to be late.”

Harry’s cheeks are already wet and Louis turns before anything else happens because this is the third time he’s seen Harry cry, but it’s the first time that _he’s_ the reason why. He runs down the stairs and into his car. He spends the entire drive to work concentrating on not crying.

\--

 _It’s the end_ , Louis decides.

It was only their first fight, but Louis feels like it’s created such a scar on what they have. He thought they would have been okay by now, but it’s been two weeks and even though Harry’s acting as if nothing happened, Louis can’t help but feel things can’t get back to how they were.

It’s been eight months and Louis thinks April is going to be their last one.

He walks to work one morning because the sun is actually out, the flowers are blooming and even though people on the streets seem happier than usual, Louis feels like complete shit, but he refuses to believe it’s because he didn’t wake up next to Harry and blames it on his lack of caffeine.

“Morning, Louis,” Anna chirps brightly. He nods at her in greeting and heads to his office, ignoring Anna’s worried expression.

He doesn’t even work, he just stares blankly at the computer screen. There’s no rain, but he doesn’t need it this time because he’s not even thinking. He’s tired of it and he’s tired of being afraid of the future and he’s tired of not fucking _doing_ anything about it.

“Louis?” Anna says through the door.

“Yeah, come in,” Louis replies.

Anna opens the door and smiles at him. “You have a meeting with Isaac.”

Louis sighs deeply and just nods. “Alright, send him in.”

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Anna asks.

Louis just shakes his head. “Just send him in.”

She stays in place, hesitant and wanting to speak up, but she nods glumly and leaves. A moment later the door opens again and Isaac walks in. He’s worked with him before, finding him his vacation homes and even at parties. He’s _tall_ , two heads taller than Louis and always dresses as if he’s going to a fashion show. Isaac walks in wearing a grey suit, his dark hair in a perfect coif and his teeth bleached blindingly white that contrasts with his tan.

“Morning, Louis,” Isaac says, walking around his desk and pulling Louis into a hug. Louis lets out a soft _oof_ when he falls into his broad chest and pulls away after a moment because he hugs his clients, but Isaac has always been a little forward and too confident. He’s told Louis that he worked in the show business, constantly travelling around because he’s apparently needed everywhere.

“How are you?” Louis asks, sitting down.

Isaac sits down in the seat in front of his desk and straightens his tie. “Busy as ever, it’s going to be a big year for movies.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“Well I’m actually doing work in Manchester and I know you only do houses in London, but you’ve helped me find places before so I was wondering if you can help me out again. I’ll pay whatever you need,” Isaac explains.

It’s a pain in the arse to look for houses outside of London, but Isaac always pays him a lot for his work, so he obliges and they get to work. Isaac’s always been a difficult client on paper, but when he actually sees the place, it’s like he’ll say yes to anything. Louis rarely has to make an effort and he’s more than satisfied, so he knows that this will be an easy find even if it is in Manchester.

“Alright, Lou. Thanks for your help, I can’t wait to see what you find,” Isaac grins.

Louis sets his pen down and moves his fringe out of his eyes. “It’s my job, no problem.”

Isaac’s eyes travel down for a second before meeting his eyes again. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

That takes Louis by surprise and he widens his eyes. “Er, nothing.”

It’s not a lie because he was just planning on heading home and playing FIFA with Niall, but he’s pretty sure that Niall won’t miss getting his arse beat. He was contemplating heading to Harry’s, but he pushes the thought out of his head.

“Would you like to go out tonight? Maybe dinner and some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Isaac smirks and adjusts his watch as if to call attention to it. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Louis swallows thickly, staring at his watch that’s reflecting the light that’s peaking in through his windows. This is what Louis was talking about in the beginning because it was supposed to be fucking _casual_. He wanted the freedom of going out on dates with other people, but now he feels wrong because Harry just had to fall in love with him. And he just had to fall back in love him back.

He hasn’t gone out to dinner in _ages_ , eating take-out or meals Harry cooked, but he can’t think about that now. If Louis wants his relationship with Harry to go back to how it was in the beginning, he can’t think of how much it’s evolved. No more home-cooked meals, no more staying over, and no more waking up next to him. He can still do this because it’s not like he told Harry how he’s felt yet. If he goes on a date, what he feels for Harry might just go away. It might just lighten up and go back to his casual feelings, at least that’s what Louis hopes.

He just needs to get back into the dating world and not in the fucking bubble that he’s been in with Harry. It’s the feeling of being suffocated, of not getting around and seeing what else there is. That’s all it is, Louis thinks.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis nods and uses every muscle he has to smile. “It’s a date.”

\--

When he gets home, he jumps in the shower and keeps adjusting the temperature until it’s scalding hot, burning his skin but all he feels is how hard his heart is pounding. He ducks his head under the spray of water, letting the steam build up until eventually it’s all he sees.

He busies himself with trying to get ready, spending nearly half an hour on his hair and tearing apart his closet to find something to wear. He’s digging in the back of his closet for his other shoe while he has his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.

“Hello?” Niall answers lazily.

“Hey, where are you?” Louis asks while tossing shoes aside. For the life of him, he _can’t_ fucking find the other shoe.

“Hanging with Liam, what’s up?”

Louis groans and bangs his forehead against the wall, shutting his eyes tightly. “Just wondering why you weren’t here.”

Niall scoffs on the other end of the line. “Miss me?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Why aren’t you with Harry?”

Louis finally finds the shoe shoved all the way in the corner and drops the phone in his excitement. He quickly picks it back up while extracting the shoe. “We aren’t attached at the hip, you know. I have to go, see you later.”

He hangs up and drops the phone, tugging on his shoe. Louis stands up and checks himself out in the mirror, something he hasn’t done in the longest time. He doesn’t remember the last time he got dressed up or even the last time he wore a suit. He hasn’t had a reason to wear one for the past eight months and wearing one now makes him feel like the Louis at the beginning of summer.

Louis is sitting on the stool at the kitchen counter tying his shoelaces when the door swings open. He nearly falls off his seat in surprise and is about to yell at Niall for barging in without calling despite the fact that he has the keys, but then he sees Harry and his heart drops.

He steadies himself with a firm grasp on the counter. Harry’s wearing one his plaid shirts, buttoned only halfway along with his jeans that’s torn at the knee and his boots. He looks like the night they met and Louis can’t really deal with this right now.

“Harry,” Louis breathes out. “What are you doing here?”

Harry strolls in and smiles, kissing him. “Niall gave me the key. Figured I’d surprise you for a change.”

Louis gulps and Harry must notice how rigid he’s become because he finally takes in Louis’ polished outfit and his hair that he spent half an hour on. Puzzled, Harry’s lips turn into a tight line and his eyebrows furrow together.

“Are you going somewhere?” Harry asks.

Louis’ breath is short and quick because this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. It was supposed to make him forget about Harry, not have him in his fucking flat right before he goes on a date. “Yeah. I’m going somewhere.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Very specific. Where are you heading off to that has you in a _suit_? Not even your work has you dressing up like this. And each strand of your hair is in perfect place.”

“I’m just going somewhere, so you need to leave,” Louis replies.

“You can’t tell me where you’re going?” Harry questions.

Louis checks his watch and taps his foot impatiently. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t care about where you’re going, but I care about _you_ ,” Harry replies. “I’m just curious about what you’re doing. You’ve never been so shady about where you’re going before so why-“

“I’m going on a date!”

Harry pulls his face back as if he’s been slapped. “A date?”

“Yes,” Louis mutters. “And I’m going to pick him up in fifteen minutes so you need to go.”

Harry searches Louis’ face as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “You’re going on a date?”

Louis rubs his face in frustration. “ _Yes_ , if I haven’t made that clear yet.”

“I thought…” Harry trails off quietly, hanging his head down to stare at the floor as if that will provide him with some sort of answer to make sense of all of this. “I just thought we were…”

“We were what? Boyfriends? Harry, we aren’t in a relationship,” Louis says.

Harry turns his head up quickly. “Fuck that, Lou! That’s bullshit and you know it. We don’t have to put on some fucking _title_ to know what we are,” Harry argues.

“And what’s that, hm? What exactly are we?”

Harry looks at him with a pained expression. His eyes are red and they’re brimming with tears, his lips quivering. Louis wants to close the space between them and just forget the whole night. He wants Harry to stop crying. He wants Harry to stop crying because of _him_.

“I’m yours,” Harry says. “I’m yours and you’re mine. You know that.”

He can almost feel Harry’s finger tracing his name on his skin, silently saying _you’re mine_ all of those times. Louis has to look away from Harry because he feels like the ground is going to swallow him whole. He bites his bottom lip to stop it from shaking and he tries not to let the tears pooling in his eyes fall over.

“You make me so happy and so sad. I don’t know what to do,” Louis’ voice trembles, but he refuses to let the tears spill over his eyes. Harry’s completely different; his cheeks are wet from is tears and his _eyes_. They hold so much pain and it’s because of _Louis_. It tears him apart inside and he doesn’t want to do that to Harry. He doesn’t want Harry to see how much he’s hurting him. He’ll keep it inside of himself, instead.

“There’s nothing _to_ do. At the end of the day there’s you and there’s me. That’s all that matters,” Harry replies.

“I know you think like that, but I don’t. What about-“ Louis was about to bring up the subject of _kids_ , but stops himself in time. “What about paying rent or- or _food_. Whatever you may think about my job, whether it’s wrong or bad, I’m doing it so-“

Louis doesn’t even have the coherency to come up with a sentence anymore. He can’t use pronouns. He remembers when he used to think _Harry_ and _Louis_ should become a pronoun. _You_ and _I_ should become _us_ , he would always think. Now, he can’t even say the word _we_ because it feels so wrong coming out of his mouth when Harry is crying in front of him.

“I was losing you,” Harry cries softly. Louis is confused about this for a moment before Harry continues. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought that I could change how you see things. I _hoped_ that I was enough to make you realize that what you’re doing now doesn’t matter to me. I hoped that whatever I told you made you realize that you can’t use the present to escape the future.”

 “People come and go. You said that to me; you have to let people go if they want but you can’t be bitter about it. Let them go their way and you go your own way,” Louis replies.

“No,” Harry argues. His voice is soft yet firm, trembling with that a word that has only one syllable, but holds so much weight. “People come and go, but above everyone else, _you_ were the one who was supposed to stay.”

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“I did. I told you everyday.”

Louis thinks back to all of the time where Harry begged for him to not to go to work. He remembers each time where Harry asked him to just stay there with him and each time, he left anyway. And _fuck_. When did he screw things up so horribly that he has to _remember_ things about their relationship? That has to be the saddest word in the English language, Louis thinks. _Remember_. People can bring up happy memories and the happy feelings that will follow it, but it’s only a short amount of time until nostalgia washes over them, making them long for something that isn’t in reach anymore.

Louis doesn’t know how did he didn’t see it. He doesn’t know how he let them wither to this- whatever _this_ is. Two people who are crying over what they once had and were stupid enough to let it go.

He swallows what feels like a boulder down this throat and inhales deeply. He needs to fucking get it together because he’s on the brink of breaking down. Harry’s already halfway there, his tears dripping off his jawline and Louis fights temptation to wipe them away.

“Maybe not. Maybe we’re supposed to go our own ways.”

Harry breaks at this. He lets out a choked sob and he has to turn his face and stare at the wall. He doesn’t even try to wipe his face; it’s pointless because the tears are endless. He starts to fidget with his rings, twisting them back and forth and Louis allows one tear to slip down his cheek.

“Throughout everything, I’m here. I’m _here_ , with you, and it’s where I’ll always be.”

Louis hesitates at first, but reaches forward to take Harry’s hands in his to stop him from playing around with his rings. Harry’s startled from the contact and looks up at Louis with eyes so broken Louis refuses to believe that he’s the person who’s responsible. He refuses to believe any human being can cause so much pain to someone they love.

“It’s just different,” Louis whispers. “We’re different.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to anyone who hasn't given up on this yet, although I don't blame those of you who did. You guys probably hate me and I hate myself too.
> 
> To be fair, I was working on another fic that I am extremely proud of and I posted it along with this final chapter! The new fic is called 'The Study of the Ocean In Our Veins' if you guys want to give it a read, it'll make me so happy that you guys did!
> 
> This chapter is short because, well, I couldn't add more to it than what I was already happy with. I ended it where I wanted to and that's all that matters to me. I hope you guys like it and thank you guys so much for reading! I've had so much fun since this was my first fic!

_This is hell_ is Louis’ first thought when he wakes up in the afternoon two weeks later. It’s been his first thought for the past two weeks, actually. It’s hell because he falls asleep loving Harry but he wakes up nowhere near him. It’s hell because he’s _here_ , alone in his stupid flat and Harry’s _there_. And that’s just not how things should have ended up.

Things shouldn’t have ended at _all_ , but Louis fucked everything up. He didn’t know how things would play out between them, but he knew that it shouldn’t have ended like this. The past two weeks have been waking up alone to cold beds, returning to his flat to nobody whisking up some concoction in the kitchen, and crawling in to a bed that’s too comfortable. It’s been missing the reassurance of Harry’s warm skin against his even though in Louis’ sleep, he can’t be found. He’s homesick for Harry’s arms and curling into a pillow that isn’t him. It’s been a nonstop of just fucking _missing_ him.

“Why don’t you just apologize? It’s Harry,” Liam suggests later that day. “He’ll forgive you.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, you should have seen his face when he left my flat. He was fucking broken.”

“Did you end up going on the date?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Nope,” Louis answers. “I actually lost him as a client after I told him I couldn’t make it which made that night all the better.”

Liam sighs deeply and hunches his broad shoulders. Louis desperately wants to ask him how Harry’s been because he knows that all of them still hang out. The words are crawling out of his throat, but he takes a large gulp of his wine to drown them.

“How’s Squishy?” Louis asks instead. “Do you ever shout out his name while having sex with Stacey since their names are similar?”

Liam looks at him unimpressed. “I think you’ve gone downhill, mate.”

“It’s a genuine question!”

“You’re trying to distract yourself from what you really want to know.”

Louis hops off the stool and walks to the fridge to pour himself another glass of wine. “Since when are you all-knowing of what I want?”

“We’ve known each other for years,” Liam replies. “And it doesn’t take an idiot to see what you’re trying to do.”

Louis pinches Liam’s arm when he walks by to return to his seat. Liam yelps, rubbing his arm back and forth despite being a fitness trainer who has biceps three times the size of his own arm. He smiles triumphantly and laughs at Liam making a show of inspecting his arm for damage.

“He’s sad,” Liam finally says after he concludes that his arm is fine. “He doesn’t even like sleeping in his bed anymore. He’s been sleeping on the couch.”

Louis looks down at his granite counter and chews on the inside of his lip. He might not be able to kiss him, hug him, or even think of his fucking name without wanting to drink until he blacks out, but he can still make him sad. He might not be able to make him happy, but if he can still make him sad then Louis will hang onto that for now. It’ll be until he doesn’t affect him at all where Louis will know that it’s really over. When Louis’ name won’t even exist in Harry’s vocabulary anymore or their story will be just one for the books, one where Harry will tell during drunken nights. That’s when Louis will know how a broken heart feels.

“Well that makes two of us, I guess,” Louis murmurs under his breath.

Liam slams his palms on the counter so loudly that Louis’ surprised it didn’t crack. “Then _fix_ this, Lou! Harry will forgive you and you _know_ it, so I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Louis asks. “Hm? What if we’re wrong and Harry doesn’t want anything to do with me? What do I do then?”

“He won’t,” Liam replies. “You know he won’t.”

Louis swirls his wine around in the glass. “No, I don’t know that.”

He doesn’t know anything anymore; he hasn’t known anything for the past two weeks except for the fact that he misses Harry. Louis also knows that he isn’t going to do anything about it soon.

\--

He’s tried to occupy himself with work and _Jesus_ , he never thought he’d have to do that. Work always kept him occupied whether he liked it or not, but now he’s finding himself staying up late into the night until he’s so tired that he falls asleep at his computer. Louis tires himself out because he can’t stand to stay in bed, tossing and turning.

Anna knocks on the door and doesn’t even wait a second before she strolls in, dropping a stack of papers onto his desk. “You’re really working yourself, aren’t you? I mean, I thought you were mental over work before, but _now_ is just a different story.”

“I have bills to pay and food to put on the table,” Louis says, taking a gulp of his coffee. “Money isn’t going to come in itself, no matter how much I want it to.”

She rolls her eyes and leans onto his desk with her palms. “I know I’m your assistant, but I’m also your friend, yeah?”

Louis doesn’t stop looking at his computer, but he stops typing. “I know, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to work.”

“At this rate, you’ll work yourself to death.”

He raises his cup of coffee at her. “Cheers to that.”

“C’mon, Lou,” Anna says. “You text me at four in the bloody morning just to tell me you found flats. What are you even _doing_ at four in the morning? And please keep it PG.”

“I’m looking for flats, I thought that would be obvious,” Louis answers. He’s never told Anna details about his relationship with Harry, just the fact that he was seeing someone. “You guys really need to leave me be and let me just _deal_ with this. Some people drink themselves into a stupor and I bury myself with work. To each their own, right?”

“You’re burying your own grave,” Anna shakes her head. “Just… ease up.”

Louis tips his head back and finishes the rest of his coffee. “Can you get me more coffee? And start arranging an open house I told you about in that email I sent you last night.”

Anna sighs heavily and nods her head, taking his empty cup and leaving his office. Louis continues to bury himself into his work, into his own grave. He just keeps digging and digging until he gets so deep that he forgets why he’s doing it in the first place.

\--

Louis focuses on the rain hitting against his car and how it sounds like white noise. He’s caught himself reaching over to his radio to turn up the volume, to increase how hard it’s raining.

 _If only_ , Louis thinks.

If Zayn saw him right now, he’d call him melodramatic; sitting pathetically alone in his car while he tries to think of anything but how he fucked everything up with Harry, only ending up thinking exactly that. And really, what the fuck does Zayn know? There’s a certain comfort about sitting in your car and being so close to nature because in the end, it’s the only thing that’s actually been there for him. Not to say he doesn’t love his friends because he _does_ , but the rain comes with a promise of returning no matter how long it’s gone.

He stares at the roof of his car and sighs heavily. It’s not Harry’s voice, but the rain and the sound of it will suffice. He’s been lying in his car for a good hour now and it’s been an hour of trying just to stop thinking. But when it comes down to it, he knows that all he wants is to crawl into bed with Harry and hold him, reassuring him that he’s _staying_.

That’s the real kicker because he’s the one who fucking _left_. Harry might have been the one to walk out of the door that night, but Louis was the one who shut it. Who is he to think that he can waltz back into Harry’s life and plead forgiveness when he knows that he doesn’t even deserve it in the first place?

It scares Louis to look back on how happy he was and looking at sad he is now. It has to be unhealthy, that dramatic difference one feels, especially how quick and overwhelming it is. It’s like a tidal wave consuming him and he just doesn’t know what to _do_.

And _Jesus Christ_ , he wants to cry but can’t bring himself to it. He wants to cry because he fucking had it. He had what everyone in this damn world wants; to come home to someone who doesn’t need words to know it’s time to kiss you. He found someone who has the ability to intertwine his fingers with and immediately feel at home. How many people can say that? Louis doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, because he was one of them. But now he’s _not_ and yeah, he’s lucky enough to have at least had it, but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have Harry anymore and it’s his entire fault.

Louis looks out his window and thinks that the heavy rain tonight is a good substitute for all of the tears he doesn’t shed tonight.

\--

“Hey, Lou.”

Louis perches his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and sees Niall helping himself to the contents of his fridge. Louis wouldn’t think this would be so weird on a regular occasion, but he hasn’t seen Niall for a month, only talking to him over the phone.

“Uh, hi?” Louis mutters. Niall closes the fridge and finds a bag of crisps on the counter. He leans back and eats a mouthful before speaking.

“I still need to kick your arse in FIFA. Wanna play?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that what you’re here for? To eat my food and to play FIFA?”

“Why the hell else would I be here?”

“Um, to ask me about Harry?”

Niall rolls his eyes and walks over to the couch, collapsing next to him. He kicks his feet on the coffee table, crossing his ankles and Louis turns his body so he can face him.

“Do _you_ want to talk about it?” Niall asks.

“No, not really,” Louis answers.

Niall smiles easily and hands the bag over to Louis, who takes a couple of crisps and eats it one by one. “Then I’m not going to force you to.”

 “Wait, okay, I want to talk about it.”

Niall throws his hands up in the air incredulously. “Well which one is it? You do or you don’t?”

Louis falls back against the cushions and sighs deeply. “I want to talk to _him_.”

“Then talk to him, _Christ_. It’s been a month and I forgot how dramatic you are.”

“I can’t do that, are you mental?” Louis asks.

“So are we talking about it? Is this what this is?” Niall asks. His voice tells Louis that he’s exhausted from talking already and he gets hit with the feeling of how much he fucking missed Niall.

“I’m sorry,” Louis murmurs under his breath. “If I put you through anything.”

“ _Me?_ ” Niall asks. “Out of all people, you’re apologizing to _me?_ Lou, have you lost our goddamn head?”

“I have a bunch of people I need to apologize to, your name is just one I can cross off,” Louis replies.

Niall rubs his face harshly and sinks down the couch until he’s parallel with the ceiling. He stares at it blankly with his fingers in his hair. “You two are driving me fucking nuts.”

It hurts Louis to hear that Niall is still referring to them as a pair.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you for anything, Jesus,” Niall groans. “I’m annoyed, sure. I’m more impatient than anything for you two hurry your fat arse and get this whole shit over with.”

“Get _what_ over with?”

“The bit where you apologize to Harry and you guys fall into a bed of roses and live happily ever after. Whatever comes at the end of those romantic movies Harry loves so much, I don’t know,” Niall says.

“What makes you so sure that’s going to happen?”

“I know Harry and I know you,” Niall shrugs. He yawns and shifts himself until he’s lying back on the cushions and grins over at Louis. “Now, I came over here to kick your arse in FIFA and eat all your food. Plus, you made me listen to you guys have sex so it’s the least you can do.”

\--

It’s the night of Zayn’s artwork showing in a gallery and Louis contemplated going, he really did. He got suited up and had one foot out the door before he rushed back inside, slamming it shut behind him. He’s had _weeks_ to come to finally being okay with how things are and it would take just a glance at Harry to set him back at square one.

He shoots Zayn a text saying he can’t make it and changes into sweats, preparing himself for a night of answering emails that he has been slacking off on and a bottle of wine. He gets a phone call from Niall, but ignores it because he isn’t in the mood for his drunken arse asking where he is.

Louis’ in the middle of pouring himself another glass when the door bursts open, hitting the wall and ricocheting off. Louis falls off of the couch, startled and stands up to see Zayn looking at him. He’s wearing a black suit with his hair coiffed to perfection. Perrie must have put makeup on him because his under eye bags are gone, making him look more awake. Louis gulps and clutches his blanket closer to him. He looks livid; his nostrils flaring and his fists clenched together at his sides.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Zayn slowly says.

“Uh, hey,” Louis mutters. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the art show?”

Zayn steps forward and Louis takes a step back, knocking into his coffee table. He stumbles and tries to regain balance, his hands shaking. “I was at my art show before I realized my _best friend_ wasn’t there. Instead, I find him in his flat with sweats and looking as if he hasn’t showered for five fucking days.”

“ _Two_ days,” Louis corrects. Zayn glares at him with such hatred that Louis cowers in fear.

“Don’t fuck around, Lou.”

“Niall told me Harry was-“

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair in frustration and shakes his head. “You skipped my art show just because Harry was there? You _know_ how important this is to me! Plus, he said he’s going to leave early and I’m going to assume the reason was you, so thanks for ruining that too.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis sighs. “It’s just hard for me to see him.”

“Have you ever thought for a _second_ to put your shit with him aside and just be there for _me_?” Zayn asks furiously. “I know you’re going through a tough time and I’m sorry, I really am, but tonight was huge for me.”

“Then why are you here?” Louis replies, his voice rising a bit. “If tonight was so huge, then why did you come all the way to my flat?”

“Because believe it or not, you being there is actually important to me,” Zayn says.

Louis gnaws on his lips because he can’t think of anything to say. He can say how sorry he is, but he knows that those words have lost it’s meaning at this point.

“What’s holding you back, Lou? Really? Because this bullshitting around is a waste of time and you fucking _know_ it,” Zayn asks.

Louis rubs his face, exhausted. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I _don’t_ know. Nobody fucking knows anything, so can we stop pretending that we do?”

“Fine, you’re right,” Zayn says. Louis looks back at him, taken aback because this is the first time that Zayn has admitted he was right. He has an urge to take out his phone and have Zayn repeat it so he can record it and maybe put it as his ringtone. “Nobody knows anything, so what are you waiting for? For you to suddenly wake up with an epiphany one day and just _know_?”

“I think I’ve caused enough trouble in Harry’s life,” Louis replies.

Zayn scoffs. “Would you shut up and stop acting as if you’re a burden in his life?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but he crawls around his fucking flat looking for change and I work all the time. What makes you think the future is going to be kind to us?”

“Who _cares_?!” Zayn shouts. “Lou, just for one second, just stop caring about the future. Whatever happens two hours from now or two years from now, throw it all out of your head. I know that’s hard for you because everything you do is _for_ the future, but it’s fucked you over. Stop denying yourself every little thing that makes you happy _right now_ for the sake of your future.”

“Maybe we’re not even supposed to be together,” Louis shakes his head. “Maybe it’ll be a waste of time.”

Zayn tugs at his hair and looks at Louis as if he wants to strangle him. “What do you want _right now_?”

Louis takes a deep breath. “I want to see Harry.”

“Then _go_ ,” Zayn presses. “Let’s go to the art show.”

“No, not right now,” Louis shakes his head and continues before he could argue. “I mean, I don’t want the art show to be the place where we talk again.”

“Phone him or write him one of those letters that he loves so much,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “You two, I fucking swear. I don’t know how anyone deals with you guys.”

Louis tunes him out, his eyes widening. He races to his room and opens his drawer, rummaging through it to look for the manila envelope that Harry gave him for his birthday, but forgot to open. He throws everything over his shoulder until he finds it buried underneath all of his socks. Louis tears it open as he sits on the floor, pulling out a letter.

_Lou,_

_It’s November, which means I’ve only known you for two months. I don’t know how you take your coffee or what your favorite sweater is or what your favorite song is. I know what you look like when you wake up in the morning. I know that you hum songs in the shower. I know that the crook of my elbow just so happens to fit the dip of your waist. I don’t know how many seasons you will wake up next to me, but I know that mornings are easier with you._

_Did you know I told Alfred about you before I even knew you? I’ve loved you when we met at the pub and I loved you even when we didn’t know each other._

_I don’t really know what else to say except for thank you for paying for our drinks that night and thank you for making me realize that my home is not wooden floors with four walls made of bricks. Alfred once told me to never make homes out of people, but it’s probably too late for that. I don’t know what it is about you, but you can somehow make the most mundane place feel like home._

_You asked me why I like letters so much and I hope this gives you an answer._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Louis can’t stand being at home anymore because it’s not home, not really. It’s not an uneven mattress that can barely fit one person, let alone two. It’s not a window that the pale moon peaks through in the middle of the night to act as the only source of light that Louis appreciates so he can see Harry’s hand in his and believe that it’s real. It’s not the depression of Harry’s shoulder that he fits his cheek into. So he grabs his jacket and grabs Zayn’s face in his hands, pressing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“You’re the best mate ever and I don’t deserve you,” Louis says.

He races out the door before Zayn could get a word out and gets in his car drives to Harry’s flat. He’s done this enough time to be used to it, to be used to not having to call Harry before hand simply because he _can’t_ call Harry. He feels as if everything around him is moving in slow motion even though he’s out of breath, moving as quickly as he could. At a red light, he gets a text from Zayn that says _he left the art show, good luck xx_ and that causes his heartbeat to race so quick that he feels he’s on the verge of a heart attack. Louis doesn’t know what’s going through his mind as he drives blindly to Harry’s flat and he doesn’t have a contingency plan. All he knows is that with every step up the wooden stairs, he’s getting closer to Harry, closer to _home_.

He knocks on the door and he can hear the footsteps against the floors through the thin walls. Louis fidgets from one foot to the other, wiping his palms on his jeans because it’s been so long but he hasn’t stopped thinking _Harry Harry Harry_ and _you feel like home to me_ and _I hope you still love me as much as I missed you_.

Harry opens the door and his eyes widen when he sees Louis.

“I don’t know why your favorite boots are the ones that are falling apart,” Louis begins breathlessly. He doesn’t even give himself a chance to look over him, to see what two months has done to him. Harry’s mouth opens and closes at a lost for words but Louis doesn’t care because he needs to let it out, he _should_ have done this months ago. “I don’t know how you don’t freeze to death in your two shirts and I don’t know what your favorite book is. But I know that your favorite breakfast is banana pancakes and I know that you don’t like when your coffee gets cold, but you drink it anyway. I’m lucky enough to know what you look like before you fall asleep.”

Louis stops to catch his breath and Harry just searches his face. “Lou…”

“I don’t know where you’re going,” Louis cuts off, “I don’t know and I don’t care, but I’m going there too.”

“I don’t think you realize how much I’ve missed you,” Harry whispers. “If you did, you wouldn’t have put me through this.”

Louis lets the tears fall because he’s got nothing to lose now. He’s going to let it out; his feelings, his tears, whatever the fuck else because holding it all in had resulted in all of this in the first place and look where that ended him.

“I’ve imagined how much it would hurt to see you go, but I was wrong because nothing could compare to the actual thing,” Harry continues.

Louis knows that _I’m sorry_ isn’t a strong enough word for what he’s done, so he settles with, “I love you.”

Harry’s eyes brim with tears and he moves forward, but stops himself. He smiles slightly and looks down. Louis lets his eyes fall down to his ragged sweatshirt with a few holes in the sleeves, his sweatpants that aren’t long enough for his legs, and his socks with a hole so his toe is poking out. He looks like everything he’s been missing for the past two months.

“I read your letter,” Louis says. “If you’re wondering what it is that made me come here.”

“Have you been busy?”

He knows Harry’s asking about his job and Louis gives him a weak smile. “I’m always busy,” Louis says. “But I’m never too busy to not miss you.”

Harry stands at the door while Louis stands just outside of it and they’re simply staring at each other. If somebody passed them, they would probably look mental but Louis is just trying to soak him up because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

“You wrote that letter in November? Two months in?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe. “I saw it coming, you know. When you left, I mean. I just didn’t see _how_.”

“I didn’t go on the date. And what are you, a psychic?”

Harry grins and looks up to meet Louis’ eyes. “Yeah, Liam told me and no, although I hear that pays well.”

Louis laughs and takes one step closer. “If you saw it coming, why didn’t you tell something, ol’ wise one?”

“Because I don’t think it would have changed the fact that you would still leave,” Harry says. “I’m not daft. I could see you doing things differently towards the end and I wasn’t trying to change you. I just wanted you to realize that at the end of the day, I love you and that’s what matters. At least, that’s what matters to _me_.”

 _Christ_ , Louis can’t even help himself when he feels his smile practically splitting his face open because he missed Harry and how he goes on about things.

“Can I kiss you?” Louis asks. “I just, I really missed you and it’s been two months and I really fucking missed you.”

Harry breaks out in a smile and Louis feels lighter immediately. He doesn’t wait for his approval, he just steps over the line that separates him from outside the flat to inside. Louis stands on his toes and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, urgently pressing his lips to Harry’s. Harry immediately engulfs Louis, his arms tightening around his waist as if working on autopilot.

 _You’re home_ , Harry silently says. _Welcome back_.

\--

Mornings in autumn London is something Louis has never liked. He used to wake up cold and shivering, the weather managing to seep in through the crevices of the walls and engulfing him. He used to go to work with his feet dragging along the sidewalk and practically dragging his body to his flat from exhaustion. He went to bed, not only feeling more miserable and cold than when he woke up, but more alone.

Louis still wakes up feeling the autumn cold trying to immerse him, but he has Harry’s arms around him, his face tucked into the crook of Louis’ neck and his warm breath chasing the cold away. Their feet are tangled together under the worn out blanket that’s on top of them. He used to think the blanket was useless in protecting them against the weather, but he’s come to realize that it’s come to wrap them up and separate them from against anything that’s other than the comfort of them on Harry’s bed.

Harry stirs behind him, pulling him impossibly closer against his chest. Last autumn, Louis would have bit his lip to repress his happiness, but he’s not going to do it now. He lets the smile form on his lips and relaxes back against his chest, feeling Harry trace his own name against his forearm.

“Sleep,” Harry mutters in his ear with the voice that made it’s home in his ear for the past year.

Louis might not be going back to sleep, but he’s sure as hell not leaving the bed. He makes a lot of bad choices each day, he’s sure of it. He knows that taking that first sip of tea without waiting for it to cool down is a bad choice. He knows walking into work miserable is a bad choice and he knows that distancing himself away from Harry was the worst choice of all. But a bad choice he makes each and every day, along with pretty much every person on this planet, is getting out of bed.

He can’t imagine anything better than staying right here on this lumpy and worn-in mattress that can barely fit both of them, flattening down from their weight, with Harry’s arms caged around his waist. He doesn’t think anything that will happen in his day will beat laying in bed with Harry right now, doesn’t think anything will be _worth_ it.

It’s not just the mattress or Harry that makes him like mornings now, but it’s himself. He’s finally waking up and _liking_ who he’s waking up as. He might be going to bed miserable, but he’s waking up with contentment.  It’s Sunday and he’s always believed that time has elongated itself on Sundays. So he’s not in a rush to do anything, not in a rush to be anywhere but here. He can get up to make tea in two hours and know he will have enough time to drink it, enjoy it, and go on about his day without any haste.

Louis rolls over to face Harry who has his eyes shut but he knows he’s not really sleeping. He pulls the thin blanket over their heads and Harry opens his eyes, a tired smile on his lips. With Harry’s arms around him, he knows that not all the coffee, tea, or thick blankets in the world will warm him up as much as Harry does. Louis presses his lips against Harry’s and he knows that no coffee can wake him up and get him through the day like Harry does. Louis has never had a home before, not really, but there’s the two of them under the blanket, Harry’s legs intertwining with his and his tongue slipping into his mouth. So he’s never head a real home.

Up until now.


End file.
